ReGenesis
by xLilly White
Summary: Kidnapped, starved, and faced by Nefertiri's wrath, will Evie be able to stay faithful to her husband, or succumb to the charm of her reincarnated lover...? ardethXeve
1. A hasty escape

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter one  
_A hasty escape_**

**xxx**

The sweet smell of ancient sand usually tickled her nostrils and gave her a surge of adrenaline, which was useful if she was to fulfill her quest. Something told her that she'd gotten used to having this reaction because of all the blazing adventures that her husband had helped her plough through- after all, it wasn't exactly her fault if she was a modern reincarnation of some ancient Queen who seemed to take pleasure in scattering her royal problems throughout a decent number of millenniums.

The only thing that held Evelyn O'Connell back this time was the minor fact that she was half naked in the middle of the Karnack ruins, squatting painfully behind some fallen obelisk in a puddle of stinking wet sand next to the person she least expected to be with- no, not her abusively adored American, but the leader of one of the tribes of Medji, who was silently kneeling beside her with his trusted Thompson gun in hand.

Her hands were tied back behind her back and some ugly, reeking black cloth was gagging her around her neck, where her faithful friend had brutally yanked it down from her mouth. Well, it was technically her fault that he had almost been shot to death at least ten thousand times due to her lack of silence.

Yes, times like these were times when Eve wondered why oh why had she married Rick if their union automatically birthed heated adventures- and she was for some reason _always_ the one that got kidnapped. It wasn't logical- _she_ was the smart one. Why wasn't Jonathan kidnapped by crazed cultists all the time? It was more likely that he got caught, what with his natural magnetic ability for attracting problems and that I've-just-got-one-of-those-faces look about him.

Sighing, she kicked herself for being irrational. She couldn't blame her brother, even if this was the second time she had been kidnapped by weird cultists driven by some ancient Egyptian myth. Or some ridiculous urge to take over the world. Well, it hadn't been entirely obvious what her kidnappers' motives had been this time- it had all happened very suddenly. One moment she was soundly sleeping in her mansion, if you please, and the next thing she knew some loud, scary looking people were stuffing her into a bug-filled sarcophagus, sombre rituals flowing from their mouths and obsessive glints setting their eyes ablaze. Maybe it was their idea of a party to kill random wealthy housewives, who knew?

"Psst, Ardeth. _Psst!_" she hissed a little too loudly, struggling with her roped hands. The dark Medji swung his head around to look at her urgently with his piercing eyes, as if to say 'quietly!'. Ignoring him, she hurried on; "You don't suppose you could, um, cut me loose here?"

Without a word, the black-clad man swiveled his gaze back to the ruins, his knuckles twisting on the gun handle, giving no obvious signs that he would do as she asked. Sighing irritably, Eve knocked herself against his shoulder to get his attention, very nearly losing her balance and tumbling over.

He turned once again to look at her, a scowl etched across his tattooed face.

"What is it?" he murmured, hastily grabbing her shoulder before she fell backwards.

"Can you please cut me loose? I mean it's been about half an hour that we're waiting here, freezing to death in this stinking sand, so why can't you at least give me some thought? I cannot feel my wretched hands, Ardeth! _Please_!" Eve whisper-shrieked, not bothered that she was making noise. Being kidnapped a first time and almost getting roasted to death in a flame-infested sarcophagus was okay. But being kidnapped a _second_ time and being stuffed in a sarcophagus full of pestering scarab beetles and getting her body mutilated by bullets to get all the stray little buggers out of her flesh was _more_ than traumatizing. She still remembered that sickening feeling of bugs crawling between her veins, in and out of her flesh… she shuddered.

"Ardeth…" she tried again when said Arabian's scowl did not soften in the slightest, knowing that she was whining like a little girl. He had never experienced bugs digging him up, so he couldn't possibly complain at her behaviour- but then again, she was being ridiculously loud, which was hardly a fair thing to do when he'd saved her life and taken so many risks just for her sake.

"Evelyn, be quiet," he hushed her, whipping out Rick's pen knife all the same and sawing through her ropes. "Do not go running off again without telling me exactly where you're going and what you plan to do. Is that clear?" He ordered, his brow still knitted together in an annoyed frown as he chucked away the mutilated binds.

"Do you honestly think that I'd go running off by myself, when I'm naked and unarmed and there are God knows how many cultists out there hunting us down?" muttered Eve, sheepishly tracing the shallow pink trench that encircled her wrist with a finger as Ardeth looked away again, ignoring her comment.

"_Evelyn, be quiet_," she imitated him in a silly manly voice, then as she looked at him she was hammered to the ground by his death stare. "I-I'm sorry. It's just the stress…I'm sorry." She had to get a grip- shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself to stop her teeth from chattering as she recollected the feeling of bugs scouring her precious flesh. She found herself suddenly warming up to a certain mummy come to life- he had been trapped in a sarcophagus for years with those little scarabs devouring him till he died. Ugh, poor fellow.

Ardeth hung his head with an exasperated sigh, his expression softening a little, and took a tiny squatted step towards her to check on her arm wounds- he had had to shoot her several times (just skimming her skin with the bullets) to ram the beetles out of there before it was too late. She had several burns and dry, bloody holes up and down her arm, a few of them bandaged tightly by ripped strips of his own black clothes.

"I'm sorry about having to get rid of them so brutally," he apologized, taking a quick glance over the obelisk before setting his gun down and taking her mutilated arm in his gentle, gloved hands. "How do your wounds feel?"

"What, after being eaten savagely by flesh eating bugs and then shot a million times by some whopping great machine gun? Yes, they feel absolutely fantastic, thank you," Eve retorted, suppressing a little cry of pain as her friend's fingers felt around the wounds to check if there were any remnants of bugs hiding under Eve's skin. Alright, so the Medji knew what he was doing, but Eve still couldn't just sit there with a man's hands on her damaged skin without yearning for Rick's care. Even if Rick's care wasn't nearly as calculated and careful as Ardeth's. But still… she twitched under Ardeth's fingertips, wincing as her bullet wounds seemed to come alive with a vicious fire.

Thinking of her husband, a wistful smile had appeared on her lips without her even noticing as Ardeth removed his black scarf that usually covered his lower face. She stared down at what he was doing, shaken back into reality- the two of them were alone in this ruin place, running from the cultists that had kidnapped her- well, what remained of them anyway. Ardeth had seen to the fact that they were now half their original number. Still, there were too many of them for him to take on alone.

Before she could tell him otherwise, Ardeth tore his scarf into three separate strips and began bandaging the wounds that had started bleeding again in their wild escape.

"I feel like I'm hearing Rick," he remarked at her vocabulary, smirking under his tattoos without looking up from his work. "It seems he has been rubbing off on you lately…where did you learn such melee skills with your hands bound together?"

Eve managed to laugh. She remembered quite proudly when Ardeth had burst in and, in the heat of battle, his sword had been brutally whisked out of his grip- she had taken the chance and grabbed it as it spun in the air, using once again her 'ancient skills' to take down quite a few enraged cultist, all the while having her hands roped together.

_Pretty skillful, if I can say so myself. But still, I was being self-drugged by adrenaline because of those darned beetles; even Alex could've done that._

She thought of her son, of whom she was so proud- after ten years of raising him, it seemed he had his father's strategic thinking and strength, and a little bit of his mother's emotional side. Just a little bit though, thankfully.

"Hum…it must have something to do with my lovely alter ego," she reasoned, referring to Nefertiri in those wild Sais fights. By the Gods she couldn't believe she had been as pretty and skillful as that before. On a side note, it was shame she hadn't inherited that gorgeous black hair…instead she was dumped with dark brown curls that would never, _ever_ get tamed. _Herkane'._

"Yes, Nefertiri left quite a few of her talents to you," admitted Ardeth, looking at her in a bit of an indiscreet way- as if he meant for her to understand something that he hadn't yet spoken. Or maybe it was just that the man was a sacred warrior for God and anything that came tumbling out of his prickly mouth automatically bore some kind of importance, making you feel privileged to be the one he was talking to.

_Not unlike Rick_, she snapped back at herself, wondering why on Earth she was having these weird thoughts. _It's the beetles, the beetles and only the beetles._

_Yeah, they must have eaten their way through a part of your brain, too._ She scowled at herself.

"Heh, I wouldn't say that." She smiled pushing the compliment away as was in her nature. "She was royalty; beautiful, a talented Sai fighter, wealthy, caring a little too much for her own good…"

"And that isn't how you would describe yourself?" Ardeth challenged her, a hint of amusement sparkling in his obscure eyes as he twisted the last of the makeshift bandages into an odd little knot, securing it around one of her wounds. "I think they have given up their hunt. It's clear to go." Even after saying that he handed his crooked sword to his partner anyway and got to his feet, his back hunched as he trotted along behind the obelisk. Eve gripped the sword's smooth hilt in surprise and hurried to follow him.

They scurried along before breaking into a sprint and running across the large open space where incredibly tall pillars and obelisks towered over them at soaring heights, with a few shattered pieces of the fallen ones scattered on the sandy ground.

The two got to a place that could've been some kind of sanctuary in ancient times- wedged between some majestic pillars, a little rectangular pool of dark water was dug into the sand, and some broken pieces of a fallen pillar were bunched around it. Ardeth decided to stop here and look around again. Thirst had been drying up Eve's throat since last night when she had been kidnapped, and what remained of it certainly resembled a dry parchment of papyrus of sorts. Falling heavily to her knees in front of the pool, she gave a happy cry and bent over to start drinking.

Then she suddenly heard Ardeth cocking his gun behind her. She stopped in mid-bend and look over at him inquiringly.

"Do not drink from that," he commanded coolly, pointing the gun's sleek muzzle at the water for some odd reason.

"Oh… but, I haven't drank in two whole days! I bet you're as thirsty as me. Come on- no harm ever came from drinking water." She protested, her cupped hand still bathing in the cool, delicious water.

Ardeth almost burst out laughing. "For some reason I think that phrase has brought you much complications already, has it not?" He lowered his gun and offered her his hand to pull her up. "There are some bottles on my horse's saddlebag, don't worry."

"Well I hope for your sake that they're full," said Eve with a vaguely menacing look about her, taking his hand and heaving herself up to her feet. He raised an eyebrow slightly, stepped back to give her some space- then suddenly they both jumped a mile as the water before them gave a loud, surreal gurgle-like sound. Evelyn's hands unconsciously flew to the flimsy fabric that covered her breast, looking with a panicked eye at the sombre pool of water. It was churning and rippling, thought there was no wind. The dark Medji readied his gun instantly, pointing it at the waves.

For a moment, Eve thought she deciphered muttered whispers of Ancient Egyptian arising from the steam that the water made. As if by trance, she frowned at the pool, letting herself step towards the strange element.

"Evelyn," called Ardeth nervously, wondering what on Earth she was doing. He made a grab at her. "Evelyn! Get away from there!"

Cocking her head to one side, the reincarnated Princess paid no heed to his warning. She walked towards the pool, one boot in front of the other, unconsciously dipping her head forwards to get a better view.

She was now sure of it- some deep, enchanting Egyptian voice was chanting some phrase of ancient language, beckoning her… she knew better than to just let herself be pulled in by its attractive demeanour, but it seemed that her senses were all switched to extreme-curiosity mode. They all demanded to know what that voice was. It seemed that all the cells in her body were simultaneously shrieking, _what is it? what is it?_ And she felt this overpowering curiosity- she just couldn't, wouldn't say no to her instinct.

Something was there.

_It is time…_

"Evelyn, what are you thinking!?"

…_come with me, my Princess…_

"Come back!"

…_let us succeed in raising your precious spirit once again…_

Gunshots. Some yelled Arabic that suspiciously sounded like 'shit!'.

…_let us infiltrate it into the correct person, this time… into _your_ body, so that your spirit will rule supreme over it…_

"EVELYN!!!"

…_and then our love shall know no obstacles…no boundaries…yes…come with me…_

**

* * *

**

a&n:Well, welcome to Regenesis! So now that you've finished this chapter, you're probably wondering what the hell happened to the plot- it's going to take some time to develop, so you're probably gonna have to read on a bit to really get into it. ;) Review if that's what you feel like doing, it would be appreciated!  
Oh, and if you were wondering... _Herkane'_ is "forever" in ancient Egyptian... according to The Mummy Returns.  
Hope 'twas to your liking.


	2. Stress Residue

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter two  
_Stress Residue_**

**xxx**

Suddenly Evelyn was snapped back to reality by an arm tactlessly thrown over her stomach to knock her clean off her boots. She gasped as she realized that she had unconsciously let herself be attracted to that pool and had nearly, _nearly_ stepped into it.

Ardeth had her clutched to his waist under one arm, the other armed with his sole weapon, firing like crazy at the _row_ of enemy soldiers that had managed to sneak up on the them. He had no choice- he had to back up, there were at least twenty of them, all wrapped up in dark purple clothes with strange Egyptian pendants and jewellery all over them, as well as dangling on the ends of their guns. Five of them ran forwards all of a sudden, whipping up their swords from their belts and charging at the two escapees.

Setting Evelyn down on her feet, Ardeth leapt back, and in one ridiculous maneuver of his gun arm he managed to shoot down three of the 17 gunners without getting hit once. Eve looked up and by pure reflex, drew up Ardeth's sword in a millisecond to concurrently parry three blades that were ringing through the air, target: her face!  
Since there were three muscular expert swordsmen and only one of her, she praised the Medji for making a curved sword- by making the three enemy blades slide, she could easily throw them back even if she lacked the strength. Eve slashed at the three men whilst taking advantage of their moment of surprise, successfully drawing them away from her and cutting through one of the men's arm. Then with a painful yelp, she felt the blazing hot sensation of bullets skimming her petite frame. Forced to hop back , she prepared for her attackers' counterattacks- they were furious and skilled all the same, a deadly combination.

"ARDETH!!" she yelled, back flipping in the air to dodge the three men's attack. _Why does Nefertiri keep saving my butt? I need to start getting good at some things by myself!_ She thought grimly, landing somehow on her heels without wobbling and trotting backwards, one hand held protectively in front of her face and the other manipulating her sword with expertise, the blade ringing sweetly through the air as she waved it upward to block the others with a clash.

In a heated rain of bullets, two of her attackers got their legs and waists mutilated, and they crumbled to the ground, twitching horribly in the pain. Looking behind her now lone adversary, Eve realized that her ally had skillfully taken down the row of enemy gunners; there were only 6 of them left. She saw him sprinting from pillar to pillar, until he burst out from the pile of broken pieces of obelisk that stood directly to the side of the enemies. Infiltrating into their line, he spun around their bodies whilst shooting at them. This resulted in the gunners shooting desperately at their enemy and accidentally showering their own men with bullets as Ardeth swiftly used them as human shields.

There was a storm of Arabic yells as they realized their enemy's plan. It was outrageous; by himself, he had managed to thin them down using a strategy that they hadn't figured out till it was too late.

Eve, who was now rid of the rain of bullets, forced her opponent back with powerful thrusts of her sword, visibly getting annoyed. She twirled around him, destabilizing his blade's accuracy, then slashed her sword across his chest, blood spurting out of the thin gash. He cried out something Arabic, clumsily lunging forwards at her. She easily dodged him, ducking below his reach, and picked a fallen enemy's sword out of the sand so that she had one weapon in each hand. She stood up again triumphantly, and her wounded opponent let out a squeak upon seeing that determined look of hers and those two blades that she was proudly brandishing. Smirking at him, she danced out of his attack range before lunging back at him from behind (he hadn't had the time to actually turn around) and sliced clean across his neck with both blades. And then she watched his dismembered head slide off his shoulders…

…before letting out a scream and flinging both blades to the ground in disgust.

_Oh my God, Oh my God,_ _Oh my God, Oh my God…_

She clutched her heart with both hands, leaning her back against a pillar. What had come over her? Why had she felt that twisted feeling of…of _enjoyment_ when she sliced through the men's bodies? Why? In the good old days of her childhood she would literally faint at the sight of blood. Mummies, dead bodies, that didn't frighten her, as long as there wasn't any blood. As she grew through the ages she could stand blood a lot more, but she would never dream of spilling it.

When the situation called for it, she was forced to accept killing people- it was kill or be killed, that she could understand. But taking pleasure out of killing? Where on Earth had that come from?

She hadn't noticed that the gunfire had ceased, nor that Ardeth was limping towards her while expertly recharging his Thompson. He slipped it over his shoulders by its leather strap and came up to her shaking form. She had her eyes closed, head leaning back and lips mouthing something frantically. A prayer? For those that she had killed? Clearly she was shocked again; both hands were held tightly to her breast, knuckles white and arms shaking.

"Evelyn," he said softly, taking her shoulders with his rough hands, "Evelyn, it's over. It's over."

Oh, if only Rick was here. He would explain to her what was happening. He'd shrug it off with a joke like he usually did, making it a laugh and comforting her fretful senses. Oh, God. Why wasn't he here? She needed his presence so much, it was beginning to feel like an addiction. She wished she would see his face again. No, why was she thinking like that? She _would_ see him again, that she was sure of. What was with all this senseless doomsday pondering? She wasn't herself.

_Yeah well when you've just sliced some unknown guy's neck open and watched his head roll off with a grin on your face, maybe you might start thinking you're a little deranged, right?_

Opening her eyes, her senses greeted Ardeth's worried face and the feeling of his hands squeezing her shoulders, trying to get her to look at him.

"Rick," she stammered, wanting him so badly to metamorphose into her beloved husband- and then she shook her head, trying to pull herself together. She wasn't going to lose it, she couldn't. There were probably loads of other men sneaking up on their hiding place right this minute, gun in hand, swords snuggled in their belts.

"Evelyn, please. Are you feeling alright?" The dark Medji pressed the back of his hand to her forehead anxiously. He eyed the new bullet burns she had 'acquired' during the mad fight, and then glanced back at her to see her pale face turning to look to her right, her eyes wide and panicked beyond description.

He followed her gaze and saw something…a little gross. Actually 'a little' was an understatement. There was a decapitated body sprawled over the ground, little veins and the visible white extremity of the vertebrae sticking out of its gaping neck. Then, a little distance away, rocking on itself in blood-tainted sand was the head, still with its mouth half-open in an unfinished scream and its eyes rolled back so that only the whites shone out of its eye sockets.

Closing his eyes gravely, he looked back at Evelyn; she was trembling all over, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Ardeth…" she whispered, unable to behold the scene before her.

Pulling her into a brief one-armed embrace to comfort her, Ardeth wondered for a second about how Rick would comfort the woman…hm, actually, wrong person to imitate, he decided with a start. He wished he could do something that would bring her back to her senses, but that seemed rather impossible, seeing as he was usually the bringer of nerve-racking news of the end of the world.

"I…I don't know what happened," Eve stammered, her words cut short as she realized Ardeth was holding her. _Ardeth, of all people, trying to comfort me!_ She must've been a real sight if she'd forced Ardeth to come this far trying to comfort her. Just as she was beginning to realize this, Ardeth pulled away and held her at arms' length.

"Listen, I understand that you are nervous. But we really must get going, before we get caught again."

"Al-alright," Eve agreed, picking up his curved blade slowly and eyeing warily the blood that stained it. "Let's get going then,"

She tremulously followed him at a sprint around the huge pillars, imagining her brave little son running along this exact route except going the opposite way, like he had told her and Rick when he recounted what had happened to him when he had been taken hostage by Meela's pathetic little acolytes.

They got to Ardeth's trusted ebony black steed. The stallion snorted down his delicate nostrils as he saw them running at him, peeking out from behind all the black pompoms that hung as decorations across his dished face. A little startled, he pricked his fluffy ears towards the couple and daintily stepped one greased hoof back, swishing his elegant tail up his flank.

A horse had never seemed so beautiful in Evelyn's entire life. She stumbled up to it and practically flung her arms around its thick, furry neck.

"Oh, thank God," she mumbled into its thick mane, then she jerked up at the sound of water churning around in bottles. Twisting around, she saw Ardeth tugging a little leather-covered container from the saddlebag, as he had promised a little while back. As he handed it to her, squinting in the harsh sunlight, she cried, "Oh, thank you so much. You know, I'm going to have to pay you back somehow…buy you another Horus, maybe?" She dunked her head back and let the fresh liquid run deliciously down her throat. Ardeth smiled as he checked his stallion's girth, then slid his Thompson into a hilt that was also part of the handy saddle.

Finishing her gulp of water, Eve wiped her mouth and offered the bottle to him.

"Hey partner. Would you like some?" She grinned- she rather liked the sound of that.

Ardeth shook his head, taking the bottle back and stuffing it back in the saddlebag.

"Isn't that where Alex escaped from the train?" he remarked, nodding towards the way that they had just ran through as he secured the bag. Eve nodded.

"Yes. My son…ran through that place with gunfire raining down on him and guards being flung overhead by Imhotep- well, according to him anyway," she chuckled in half-disbelief.

"Your son is very brave," commented Ardeth, "For one so young."

"Yes he is. Judging by my behaviour just now, he certainly didn't inherit that from me," snorted Evelyn, squinting in the sun too, raking one hand through her curls.

"Your behaviour was completely understandable. As for bravery, am I incorrect if I say that you ran across a crumbling room full of demons and falling rocks just to save O'Connell?" Ardeth questioned her, speaking with the proof of what Jonathan had told him after the incident two years ago.

"That?! Just Nefertiri stepping in and 'caring too much for her own good', right?" Eve said with a laugh, though she felt the familiar pang that hit her heart whenever she recalled that awful time when she thought she would lose him. Gods, she would have leapt down that scorching demon-infested Hellhole just to get him back safely in her arms, though she said none of this to Ardeth. If what he said was true, that Medji were not allowed to love at will, then he would surely not understand.

"Do not blame your ancient self for things that happen in this life," he said, "This is your existence, not hers. You are in control of it. You should not let her memory get too overpowering." She took this advice quite seriously, nodding while thinking back to that awful melee combat.

Then, she looked up at the horse, ready to mount. Ardeth noticed her.

"I trust you have already ridden with someone else on a horse's back?" he inquired, stepping back for her to mount.

"Um…sure!" she lied, thinking that it mustn't be any harder than camels. Hm. Well, that had actually involved being snuggled in Rick's lap and stealing open-mouthed kisses from each other every three seconds, not to mention him tickling her while holding her so close she could hear his heartbeat. She reddened instantly as she thought about it, quickly hopping up onto the horse's comfortable saddle to hide her flushed face from the Medji.

He heaved himself up to sit right behind her, and suddenly she found herself leaning against his chest, beginning to get the peculiar feeling that he was embracing her again as he reached for the reins, his arms around her waist and his head looking out over her shoulder. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious in this intimate position, fidgeting so that his chin wouldn't touch her sensitive neck, though it didn't really seem to bother him too much. He kicked his horse into a steady canter, trying to stabilize the fidgety woman in front of him by locking his arms around her, so she wouldn't tumble off to the side or make the ride too uncomfortable for her, oblivious to her self-conscious nervousness.

_Oh my God, we're gonna be like this for at least four hours. Why am I reacting like some silly schoolgirl just because he's kind of nice looking? Eve, get yourself together, for the last time! You're married, you have a child. Stop fantasizing about this!_

She continued to scowl at herself inwardly, trying to shake her head so her flying hair wouldn't blow in his face. Why did she feel so awkward? At least _he_ wasn't bothered, or at least he was very good at concealing his feelings.

Once she had accepted the fact that they could sit like this and _not_ be in love, she began to feel even more uncomfortable when it came to what she would _do_. Wouldn't it be awkward if two people intimately sitting on a galloping horse just kind of started talking?

_Eve, quit being such a darned ninnie. He is a Medji, and you are _married_, for the umpteenth time. Stop being so squirmy, it's not like it's a great big thing, sitting like this on a horse with someone other than Rick!_

After a little while, Eve managed to calm down a little (_it's the beetles, the beetles, only the beetles.)_ and relax against her old friend, though it still seemed relatively awkward. She was sure that when she would look back at this, she would be on the floor laughing with her legs in the air- but hey, everyone has silly moments in their lives.

She hadn't noticed how the escape had left her a tired wreck. It was thanks to her panic and the forceful pumps of adrenaline that she had managed to be on the run and get engaged in hand to hand melee combats throughout the entire night. Now that it was morning, the events began to take their toll on her- she felt so, so tired…her head lolled slightly as she looked out at the infinite stretches of sand dunes in front of her, the blazing sun weighing down on her like a ball of fire hanging over her head. All she wanted to do was sink below some covers and sleep throughout the next fortnight.

The sand dunes just kept rolling up infront of their powerful steed, whose strides became more and more rhythmical. Its back just heaved up and down, up and down…the sand dunes kept on rolling up to intimidate them…up and down, up and down…the remaining water in the saddlebag was churning endlessly, and the man behind her was radiating such delicious heat…

She caught herself just as her head started lolling back on Ardeth's broad shoulder. Eve shook herself, making her eyes pop out of their sockets as she clung dearly onto consciousness.

_This is crazy_, she thought tiredly to herself, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of one hand. _Four hours in this scorching heat…I thought I had gotten used to it. I feel like that darned Scorpion King, except he wasn't exactly leaning back on someone and riding a horse._

She couldn't use Ardeth like a human pillow! She would be seen _dead_ before she fell asleep against someone other than her husband. Swearing on that, she concentrated her full attention on the sand dunes in front of her, watching their hypnotizing succession to the one behind with very deep determination.

_I will NOT fall asleep. I shan't!_

Ardeth Bey looked up at the sky, watching as the great flying vehicle descended down to them. He could see his old team on the dirigible's platform- O'Connell was pointing down at them, a look of genuine relief on his disheveled face. Jonathan had his hands on his hips and was shaking his head at the two on the horse below them. Alex was hopping up and down impatiently by the banister, shouting out 'Mum!' with his semi-long blond hair tumbling into his eyes. Even Izzy had a smile on his face as he operated the machine.

They had probably taken off after Alex had told them Ardeth was going to climb on the roof of the train where Eve was being held, unconscious, whilst leaving his horse in the appropriate compartment where the enemies' horses were stashed.

The Medji had assisted to the scene in the British museum first, so without having the time to warn the others, he had followed the cultists to the train, bumping into Alex on his way out of the Museum- not surprising, as Alex spent almost all his time there.

Eve had been at the British Museum studying on Nefertiri when the cultists attacked. She had told her family that she was there, so they didn't hold any suspicions in the first place. It was Alex that alerted them as soon as he ran home, but by the time he got there, Ardeth was already on the train leaving London. It had taken them far longer to come to Karnack- that's why they were arriving now.

Had he not been there, Ardeth feared that the cultist's ritual would have been complete, whatever the reason for it. And Evelyn…

Well, at least she was safe now. He smiled as Rick hopped down from the aircraft as it came to hover just above the ground, and ran towards them with a huge, relieved smile on his face.

However, Evelyn was oblivious to all this- leaning comfortably on Ardeth's strong chest, she had her head back on his shoulder, her eyes closed as she slept in blissful ignorance. She definitely deserved to rest, after the night's events.

* * *

a&n: Ardeth's horse... I know, it's a bit odd that Ardeth would go to a musuem on horseback, but... meh.  
Hope you liked, feel free to review if you have any other questions. ;) 


	3. Finger in my eye

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter three  
_Finger in my eye_**

**xxx**

"Ardeth, you fucking Medji PUNK!! What were you thinking of, huh!? Why didn't you WARN us!? You could've got your smart ass killed and then what good would you be to her, huh!?" Rick yelled right in Ardeth's face, the Medji's raven hair literally flying back. "You say there were cultists, that you could handle them, whatever- MY ASS. You could've at least made the effort of coming round and TELLING us. But no, you decided to be a hero. Well, congratulations buddy for getting out alive, too bad you've still got US to pull your sorry ass through."

They were standing on the aircraft as it floated silently back to its anchoring place, the three men in the open air- Ardeth, Rick and Jonathan, standing in a tight circle with nearly all of them wearing frowns and crossed arms.

Rick looked at Jonathan, willing him to look more menacing. The old chap was examining his golden ring with mild interest- he jumped when he saw Rick's mean eyes popping out at him.

"Hm? Oh, errm, yes! Um…what he said." He said nodding at Ardeth with a would-be-intimidating look about him. Though this situation was serious as they could get, Ardeth could not repress an amused grin.

Rick sighed, sticking one hand on his hip and rubbing the back of his neck with the other.

"Pssh…"

"O'Connell, I understand what you're getting at," Ardeth assured him calmly, "I should have told you. I'm sorry- sincerely. But you see, had I not followed them on their transport immediately, we would have gotten there too late. I think Evelyn will fill you in on the details of what they did…attempted to do with her."

"Hmfh, yeah, yeah." Rick shrugged it off. "Still you had us worried sick."

"I can handle myself, O'Connell. But thank you for your conce-"

"Err- about the girl," specified Rick, then he winked at the Medji mock-seductively and turned around.

"Bastard," muttered Jonathan with a grin on his face, once again admiring the shine on his fingers.

"You, my dear old brother-in-law, are going to end up as a goof-kebab one of these days," Rick grunted back, throwing a playful fist (that was painful anyway) in his brother-in-law's stomach, ignoring Jonathan doubling over just to get attention.

Rick made his way over to the table that stood just below the operating cabin where his wife lay, wrapped up in grey sheets that were present on the aircraft for when they decided to do a long cruise. She hadn't lifted one eyelid since they had pulled her up on the dirigible, as if she was in some kind of deep, deep sleep. Rick could only hope that she wasn't suffering one of her visions again. Those little boogers kept creeping up on her in her sleep these days. Some alarming times he would catch her sleepwalking around, muttering Ancient Egyptian that of course he couldn't understand. That had him concerned about her, even though all the times she woke up to his worried attention, she just laughed and said, "Sleepwalking? At least it's better than snoring like that Warden guy!"

To look on the bright side of things, it never seemed like she was having any bad dreams. At least she wasn't reliving herself hurtling over some balcony because of two little delinquents and their sloppy French kisses. Rick made sure he woke her up every time she began to whimper, anyway.

He looked at her angelic face snuggled up cozily in the blankets and sighed again. He wasn't really one to worry about many things, but the both times she had been kidnapped, he totally lost it with worry. Well on the other hand he guessed it was normal.

_I love you just too damn much for my own good, I guess_.

Rick let his fingers slide over the smooth skin of her cheek, wanting more than anything to just gather her up in his arms and kiss her till the knights of the Apocalypse rode out, but she needed rest. And medical attention after that- even thinking about the state of her arms made him shudder.

**xxx**

Ra had granted the people of Egypt the most beautiful sunset in Ages. Bathing the great city of Thebes with his magnificent golden robes and tainting the obscure clouds a warm shade of orange, he descended in the sky with a last goodbye before sinking into the Underworld.

Thebes was really a sight to behold at this time of day. The majestic statues and golden sphinxes that proudly guarded the city glinted in the last few rays of the sun, and the gigantic hieroglyphic proverbs carved into the walls of the Palace gaped down at the other buildings, valor shining in their glass eyes.

If one were to look a little closer at the Palace, he would glimpse a wide balcony imposing its presence between two proud statues of Isis and Osiris. And looking closer still, he would see the offspring of the Sun and Moon Gods themselves, her beauty radiating out like the blazing rays of the sun. She stood by the banister of the grand balcony, her heavily jeweled hands resting on the stone banister as she looked down at the city, hazel eyes peeping out from beneath layers and layers of obsidian hair in which were woven a million tiny golden braids. Her lone figure was wrapped up in a gorgeous, semi-transparent dress with various patterns inked along it, and a few strings with gold and ivory beads strung onto them hung around her slender waist like loose belts.

Nefertiri was, like the sunset, a real sight to behold.

She had been standing there for a very long time, just gazing out at the city that would, thankfully, never be hers. She was not fit to rule. All she wanted was for her father, the great Pharaoh Seti I, to bring peace to her homeland, and then when her single brother Rameses II would succeed him to the throne, he would also carry out his reign with this calm.

She threw back her long silky strands of raven hair with a flick of her hand, giving Thebes one last glance, before turning around to exit the balcony through its gaping entrance- extravagantly long curtains hung from the high ceiling and descended to stroke the marble floor with their soft brown layers. The Princess pushed the curtains aside to step into a chamber lined with two rows of guardian Sphinx statues at either side, their expressionless eyes glaring out at her. She walked down the isle silently, her kohl-rimmed gaze locked straight ahead.

Going through another curtain-bordered doorway, she entered an identical chamber but at the end of it loomed two huge doors made of pure gold with hieroglyphs carved delicately into its thick frame.

Suddenly as she passed the rows of sphinx statues, she glimpsed a figure between the squatting creatures of stone. Nefertiri stopped in her tracks and called out to the little scampering person.

"Hey! Hey, you!" The man looked up frightfully, the expression on his bald face as panicked and nervous as that of a desert mouse caught in the torch lights. Upon seeing just who it was that deigned to speak to the likes of him, he immediately got down on his painted knees and bowed his equally painted head, his green robes hanging off his body loosely.

Nefertiri frowned. He was a priest, and priests never came here unless they had affairs with those passed away- they belonged in Hamunaptra, city of the Dead.

"Priest," she called to him, hastily closing the distance that separated them until she was towering over his quivering little form, her ankle bracelets scraping each other noisily. He looked up at her, positively terrified.

"Rise, fool. What are you doing here?"

"M-my lady," he stammered, getting shakily to his feet.

"Why are you in the Palace? Are there more of you?" she continued to question him mercilessly, ignoring his show of fear and deep respect. He kept his head bowed, judging himself unworthy of looking at the Princess in the eye. He said nothing.

"Please, inform me." Nefertiri demanded impatiently, looking beyond his shaky frame to try and see if she could glimpse other priests in the wide chamber.

"We were appointed here for business by the Royal family. One of the less important members has begun their journey to the after life- maybe they did not tell My Lady, since the person is unknown to you." The priest stumbled over his words but finally got them out. Nodding slightly, Nefertiri was still marginally unconvinced.

"When was that?"

"Oh, the mummification process finished yesterday. We were in the lower areas of the palace for this, in the embalmment chambers. They demanded for us to come when, normally, we would do this at Hamunaptra. But the will of the Great Ones is not to be questioned." The little man inclined his head even further as he spoke these words, thing that Nefertiri would have thought physically impossible.

"I take it you are about to leave, then."

The priest remained silent.

"Do you still have business?"

"The High Pr… er, yes, we still have unfinished business to attend to. My sincerest regards, beautiful Princess," With a deep bow, the golden man scurried off again, making his way out of the enormous doors.

"Unfinished business to attend to…" Nefertiri muttered under her breath, chocolate eyes following the priest's little escapade.

Convinced, but a little distrustful about that last piece of information, the princess made her way towards her father's chambers, hurrying up grand stairways and not even taking a second glance at all the beautifully decorated walls that she had gone past so many times already.

Walking briskly along a corridor decorated with several pots that contained flowers of the purest white, Nefertiri went past her father's future-wife's chambers. Frowning in dislike, she looked down the corridor to her left, the one that led directly to Anck-su-Namun's bedroom and facilities.

To her great surprise, she came face to face with the High Priest in person, who was standing at the entrance of the corridor, concealed beneath his dark Anubis Priest robes. He too looked mildly shocked at running into her, but quickly suppressed this with a respectful bow of his head.

"My Lady," he spoke with his unnervingly seductive deep voice, and there was some kind of slyness in his tone that she couldn't quite place.

She narrowed her eyes, not even being tactful enough to bow back at him since he was a person of great importance. Perhaps not as important as her, but still, that man deserved respect.

"Is something wrong with the Pharaoh's mistress?" she hissed at him distrustfully. She did not like this scenario one bit- but if what she feared was actually true, then the Priest wouldn't have been so indiscreet, just strolling in and out of Anck-su-Namun's chambers like anyone could. He certainly was not that brainless.

"Not at all," he assured her, looking up and piercing through her gaze with those frightful black eyes. The nerve of him! No one dared look at her in the eye out of respect, but he-

'He', she observed, was also handsome in a twisted kind of way. Strangely enough he also seemed to be only a few years older than Anck-su-Namun, while Seti I was old enough to be her father. Could this mean…?

"I wish you a good day, Princess," Imhotep said, almost spitting that last word out. Nefertiri's eyes narrowed dangerously again.

"Could I ask you exactly _what_ you were doing with my father's mistress?" she challenged him, both of them being icily polite to each other.

"Attending to unfinished matters," the High Priest wriggled his way out of her question, bowing his head before turning away and walking down the corridor she had just jogged up.

The princess glared after him, then looked down the corridor where he come out of. Of course, she was allowed to go and see Anck-su-Namun whenever she felt like it, since her father completely trusted her and knew that she wouldn't try any stabbing or anything of the sort (though she really, really got tempted sometimes). But both women utterly despised each other, for a reason unknown to the young princess.

Perhaps…perhaps Anck-su-Namun was hiding a secret that she was afraid Nefertiri could uncover?

Gathering her courage in both hands, the princess began walking down the obscure corridor, hearing the usual clang and clatter of jewellery being arranged and put away in baskets. Seti's future wife was being un-dressed and un-painted? And Imhotep had chosen that moment to go and see her!?

Nefertiri was now sure of it. She stood by the open doorway of the woman's bedroom and called out.

"Anck-su-Namun! I need to see you. Are you in a state fit for talking?" She heard a few more shuffles, and then she heard a snort of laughter.

"Nefertiri? Come to _see_ me? This is a record. And in what honour have you come, my sister?"

"I want you to tell me of these 'unfinished matters' you attended to while being naked in front of the High Priest, _my sister_," Nefertiri hissed venomously, pondering whether or not she should report this to her father or not.

Suddenly a tall, voluptuous woman of bronzed skin burst out of the room, wearing a long white gown that served as her night clothes, and pinned the princess to the wall before she could register anything that was happening, a short but lethal dagger pressed to her throat.

"And what gave you that idea, darling?" Anck-su-Namun spat at her, her slightly slanted eyes flashing in anger. Without the braids or make up, she looked a little out-of-place, but certainly a lot fiercer.

"If my FATHER saw you aggressing me like this he would have you killed!" Nefertiri wheezed out, the knife pressing painfully into her windpipe without drawing blood. It was pretty blunt, but it still brought fear to a person's mind.

"Well, your father will just have to keep bathing in ignorance, won't he. And then everyone will be happy." The older woman sneered, drawing back the blade before blood was spilt and Nefertiri's pretty neck was injured.

"Everyone… including you and the High Priest, I suppose," Nefertiri pointed out, crossing her arms, her heart-shaped face creased in anger.

"Once again, what gave you that absurd idea, little girl?" Anck-su-Namun demanded, putting her hands on her hips and narrowing her furious eyes. "There is nothing between me and that man. Enlighten me with your precious reasoning, sister."

"How about I saw him coming out of your chambers, and he told me you and he had to take care of 'unfinished matters' precisely while you were undressing?"

Nefertiri jumped as the woman burst out laughing in her face.

"By the Gods, child, what made you so naïve? Certainly a trait you inherited from your father… once again, I was not undressing when he was here. What do you think? That I am some susceptible whore just out of the streets of Thebes? I think not. Anyway, have you not heard that priests are made eunuch for their own good?"

"Perhaps, but I have heard that _High_ Priests keep their… pride." Two pairs of eyes narrowed, practically showering each other with daggers.

"Listen girl, for the last time, stop trying to catch me doing things that are strictly against the laws, especially when my existence is practically an embodiment of the Law. It is as absurd as confirming that you can beat me at Sais fighting. Now get out of my chambers, I want to sleep." Anck-su-Namun sniffed at the princess, before whipping around to pad back over to her room.

Nefertiri was offended enough to pursue the fight, but she told herself to keep her emotions in check. There was no way she was being naïve, she thought stubbornly. She vowed to get to the bottom of this, even if it resulted in spying…besides, it was for her father's sake. She didn't want him to be injured for the sake of some unallowed love affair…


	4. Return to square 1

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter four  
_Return to square one_**

**xxx**

The darkness of a familiar room greeted her slowly rising eyelids. Evelyn looked groggily towards nothingness, her eyes aching and her throat once again dry like cotton. She twitched the long, graceful fingers of her hands that were clasped together in front of her face, resting on the pillow. Feeling a tingling surge of blood rush through her arms and legs, she grunted and stretched, her toes getting tangled in the thin sheets.

Slowly, the darkness began to dissipate as she got used to the room she was in- it was her bedroom, in the O'Connell's manor.

She heaved a sigh full of relief and happiness. Finally home, after two long nights of torture and beetle-scratching. Scowling at her mind once again for reminding her, she shivered and pulled the covers closer with a little pleased moan.

"What am I gonna do with you, Eve?" came an exasperated, smiling voice from the doorway. Heaving her head back up to look over to the door, Eve smiled upon seeing her husband there, dressed only in black baggy trousers to sleep, his hair all disheveled and accentuating the shadow of his bangs over his eyes. With a little grunt, Evelyn replied happily,

"What would _I_ do without _you_ is more the issue here." Rick grinned, getting off the doorframe he had been casually leaning against and coming up to his wife's side of the bed.

"What's up with not sleeping in the same bed as me?" she asked groggily, reaching up a clumsy hand to knock it on his hard stomach.

"Well, you know, Ardeth told me the state of your body and…"

"What!!" Evelyn yelped, throwing a feeble punch at him that he caught easily before wrestling it back on the bed beside her head.

"Nah, just kidding with you. You're just as attractive, sweet and devilishly charming as before," He whispered huskily, bending down to let his face hover at a hair width's distance from hers. "Well, without counting the bullet holes. Aand the scratches. And also the fact that you haven't washed since…"

"Oh, shut up! You didn't exactly smell like roses back at Ahm Shere when you were hanging off that Hellhole and I still decided to come save you," Eve argued back, her hands slipping around his neck as she whispered against his lips.

"But that was different," he smiled seductively, his bangs caressing her forehead. How he loved recounting that time- a quintessential show of her love. _Ahh, don't go boasting there, O'Connell. _

"Alright, how about the time in the wrecked double decker when I kissed you _feverishly_ with you still all greasy and stinking of mummy slime, hm?" Eve smiled ironically back as he tried catching her lips with his mouth. He gave a snort of laughter.

"Will you drop that already! I said I was sorry," He murmured before pressing his lips fully over her dry, chapped ones.

"No you didn't!" she mumbled incomprehensively against his lips. Shaking his head, Rick climbed ontop of her and silenced her as he deepened their kiss.

It was still the dead of night when Eve woke up again, all gathered up in an intimate embrace with Rick in their spacious double-bed. She gently pried herself free from his grip and smoothed her frilly white nightgown, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and getting up, her Dragonball-like hair sticking out all over the place. Looking back down at her peacefully sleeping husband again, she smiled to herself and thought about how good it felt to be in his comforting arms again. But she was so thirsty, even his loving kisses had to wait. Letting her adoring gaze admire Rick's moonlight-washed face just a few seconds longer, and then a few more, she silently got out of the bedroom and tiptoed across the landing, her prized statues and masks hanging off the wall greeting her with black gazes.

She let her mind wander back to the previous morning, about the mad escape and then the…horse ride. Surprisingly she didn't feel like laughing, when she finished cursing herself for falling asleep against Ardeth. What was really so bad about it? Now she thought about it, oddly she began to realize…she had enjoyed it.

But, what was the point in thinking back to that? Now that she was safe and back home, she just wanted to settle down and sit back with her small loving family for a little relaxing time. Maybe, maybe she might ask for Rick's consent to get pregnant again- just as an excuse to stay home and out of danger. But she immediately kicked herself- she was an O'Connell! She had kicked a walking talking mummy's rotting ass twice already! Who was she to wish for peace?

Gliding like a ghost down the stairs, Eve turned into the corridor that led to the kitchen.

Then all of a sudden, a hand sprung out of the darkness behind her and grabbed her shoulder with an unnaturally strong force- her shock blocking her scream, she was whirled around to face the aggressor, gasping for breath like a fish.

She came face to face with none other than an amused Ardeth who's grin spread from ear to ear upon seeing her terrified face.

"I would not walk around the house at such late hours, with the risk of getting kidnapped a third time, Mrs Carnavon," he smirked playfully at her, her fully-loaded-with-daggers eyes popping out of their sockets in anger and embarrassment.

"Jesuschrist," she let out in one rushed breath. "It's Mrs _O'Connell_, you little sneaking _cretin_! Don't you dare scare me like that again, or else I might borrow some Ancient booby traps from my alter ego and set them on you quite willingly," He was laughing at her.

"What are you doing down here anyway?" Evelyn snapped at him, unamused.

"I return the question," Ardeth said, crossing his arms over his cloaked chest, still with that playful glint in his black eyes. Eve could only distinguish his frame in the darkness, as she hadn't turned the lights on so as to not wake anyone up. "I happened to be sleeping on the couch just behind us. Actually _not_ sleeping would be more accurate."

"I was going to grab a drink." Evelyn simply replied, pretending not to care about his statement but feeling that gnawing curiosity at the back of her mind. She swirled around, slapping his face with her static hair, and huffed, "Well have fun not sleeping. Good night."

"Thank you for your invitation," Ardeth smiled, following her to the kitchen. Eve sighed, her perfect mood unable to drop even for his dirty trick, wondering why that man had such creepy ways of knowing what went on in people's minds. Still, the presence of her old friend comforted her- she was never quite comfortable in a big spacious house when all was dark.

"So what's wrong? Why can't you sleep?" Eve questioned the dark man, handing him a glass of water before sitting on the edge of the table, the moonlight fluttering its silvery robes in the kitchen where they sat, casting unnerving shadows in the corners of the room. Still, the visibility was much clearer in here.

Ardeth took the glass from her appreciatively, leaning against the counter that stood in front of the table.

"I…let us say that dreams can sometimes be alarming, and best kept unexplored," he said in that enigmatic tone that he so loved using.

"Alarming?" Eve questioned further, sipping from her water and savouring its freshness as it slipped easily down her throat. "How about dreaming of having some ancient bitch-fight with a woman we killed twice?" Ardeth snorted, watching her sarcastic face with interest.

"You still have visions of your past life?" he inquired, wondering why she still kept remembering previous steps of Nefertiri's life. The last time this had occurred, the End of the World had soon followed, so the visions couldn't be a good thing.

"Ah, well, they don't really matter now. Besides half of them are meaningless, even if they're gorgeous to be in- all the Egyptian décor, and the clothes, jewellery…" She trailed off dreamily, staring out of the window and up at the silvery pearl that hung in the deep purple sky. "I mean, for at least a week, I had dreams of Nefertiri taking a milk bath with little dogs and servants scrubbing me clean! _That_ mustn't mean the world is going to end, right?"

"I suppose not. They are just wandering memories now. Curious, how they kept quiet before Ahm Shere. Are you sure you didn't experience anything strange when you were younger?" Ardeth took a sip of water, finishing his glass.

"Well apart from wiping a whole library out with a domino effect…hum, I don't think so." Eve smirked, setting her glass down and hugging herself- she had forgotten that the mansion could get chilly in the middle of the night.

"I say, old chaps," came a tired voice from the kitchen corridor, "Isn't it a bit late for cooking?" Jonathan came into the kitchen, wearing his beige striped pyjamas that made him look suspiciously as young as Alex. He wandered over to his sister and gave her a clumsy kiss on the cheek.

"Never told you how _fabulous_ it was to have you back home, big sis," he slurred, falling back on a chair like a wooden puppet. "Was that scotch in there, Ardeth my chap? Why thanks for waiting for me. Pour me one, eh old buddy."

"Oh well that's cute." Eve said sarcastically, reaching forwards to clomp her brother round the head. "Jonathan, your breath stinks of alcohol, just so you know. Trying to drown your sorrow for my absence with drinks, hmm?" Ardeth raised an eyebrow, absently running the tip of finger on the rim of his glass, the crystal whistling sweetly in response.

"Ahh, that's a great idea! But, actually, I wasn't, I was too busy crying my whole face off for you, so I couldn't possibly drink,"

"For some very odd reason I highly doubt that, Jonathan," Eve laughed, kissing her brother's forehead fondly. "But thanks for the thought anyway."

Suddenly Ardeth's glass burst into a million lethal shards, its shattered remains flying out everywhere in a dangerous shower of whetted glass. Crying out in surprise, the Medji threw his hands up in front of his face, his two companions doing the same.

"Ardeth, didn't you know the glass would break if you did that?" snapped Eve upon seeing one of her most beautiful glasses explode, yelping as a glass shard embedded itself into her forearm, right where a bullet graze gaped open bloodily.

"Eve, I didn't-" Suddenly, there was a loud shower of bullets that shattered all the windows, raining down mortally on the three victims, rebounding off the chairs and table and shattering the rest of the exposed glass and cups.

"What did you do NOW, Jonathan!?" shrieked Eve as Ardeth hurriedly yanked her under the table, cursing himself for not bringing any weapons into the kitchen (he couldn't have known, but still).

"I-I-I-I didn't do a thing! I SWEAR!" Jonathan yelped innocently, leaping off the chair in one bound and ducking behind another.

There was a loud "WHAT THE FUCK!!?" from Eve's charming husband upstairs, as the kitchen continued to be noisily assaulted with ringing bullets. The men attacking them had to be hiding out in the bushes below the window, or out on the terrace- either way, anyone sneaking up behind them could easily take them out. Ardeth guessed that O'Connell would be suicidal as usual and charge into the kitchen with them, without thinking straight as soon as his wife was in danger. He couldn't exactly wriggle out from beneath the table without getting mutilated with bullets- eyeing the room around him, he sought out a plan, willing his mind to work faster.

"Oh my God, ARDETH!" Eve screamed, tugging the Medji to the ground before a bullet shot through the air and dug into the table leg, just where Ardeth's head had been a millisecond earlier. Gasping for breath, the terrified woman looked down at her friend, then back at the bullet hole with a shocked expression in her eyes.

"You can see who's shooting!?" Ardeth yelled at her above all the crazy semi-automatic gunfire. Eve nodded shakily, then pointed up at the window where she had seen the shadowy man aiming at Ardeth's head. The dark Medji suddenly reached forward and grabbed the insecure table leg and, with one powerful tug he yanked it off of the table, taking hold of it like a club.

"Apologies for your table," he breathed before rolling as quick as lightning out of under the table, all the bullet fire missing him by miracle. Eve yelled at him incredulously, fearing greatly for his life as she huddled under the mutilated table, helpless.

_I'm not helpless! Come on Nefertiri, show me what you got!_ She willed herself angrily, looking around her for a weapon. Her gaze fell on the ground-level cupboard full of dining glasses and wine bottles, just next to the table- if she was lucky, she could reach out to it without getting her arm blown off by bullets.

She grinned.

Ardeth yanked a chair up infront of him as a shield, advancing on the man hiding just outside the window that Eve had pointed out, who was shooting at him frantically, the bullets getting lost in the thick cushion of the sturdy chair. Leaping out of the window, Ardeth held the thin table leg up before thrusting it deep into the startled man's cloaked chest. Blood spurted out at him, staining the chair and his own tattooed hands. He hurriedly rolled on the floor, the four other men that were hiding on this side of the kitchen aiming down at him and shooting like madmen, the enemy's swift movement surprising them completely. Grabbing the dead man's semi-automatic gun, Ardeth leapt to his feet and obliterated the four enemies with it, taking advantage of their surprise to send them flying backwards in the bushes with the sheer force of his bullet-hail.

Rick eventually burst into the kitchen, blood on his bare chest explaining his slight lateness. He glimpsed under the table, looking for his wife- smiling to himself in amusement, he saw that she had their whole stock of bottles next to her, one of them clutched tightly in her hand as she eyed the windows where the shooting was coming from.

"WHOA!" he yelped, and by pure luck he threw himself down just in time before bullets completely massacred the wall behind where he had been standing.

Taking up his beloved shotgun that he had brought down with him, he aimed at one of the guys that had stood up for better aim and shot clear through to the other side of the man's chest, making him hurtle backwards.

There was still at least a dozen men on the left side of the kitchen, the other side of the men having been wiped out by their Medji ally. Quite handy to have as an ally, actually, Rick thought gratefully as he shot down another one of the attackers.

"So who the hell are these guys?!" he yelled over at Eve, who screamed "BASTARD!!" before lobbing a whine bottle straight into a gunner's shocked face- exploding on contact, the bottle ripped the man's entire face off and made a crack in his forehead due to its heaviness. Rick winced- that had been the bottle from 1957! Great year, and all.

"Great aim, honey!" he shouted, pulling himself between the table with her.

"The damned bastards DESTROYED my kitchen!" she bellowed angrily, taking up a bottle as she saw one of the guys shoot the fluff out of the chair Jonathan was still cowering behind.

"Wait! WAIT!" Rick suddenly cried, and his wife eyed him inquiringly. He snatched the bottle from her and took a long sip, then wiped his mouth and handed it back. "Just had to kill off some brain cells there before you get rid of the best Scotch in the world," he reasoned.

"Ah, you alcoholic idiot!" Eve laughed at him, before she threw the bottle square into the chair-aggressor's face and noticed Rick's flinch as it blew up in millions of transparent shards and brown liquid. "What is it with you and getting drunk!?"

"Alright, the last guy is…" Rick took aim carefully, and shot at the last aggressor, his gun twitching upwards. "…a goner. We're done!" He threw the massacred table off of their heads and pulled his wife up, checking her up and down for wounds.

"What's wrong with you, Eve!? Why go out in the middle of the night? You know you're not safe by yourself, even in here!" He then started lecturing her, shaking her shoulders slightly, "I mean, you of all people, aren't you scared of getting captured by cultists again?"

"It's okay, Ardeth was with me," Eve reassured him, and as she said this she thought she glimpsed a flash of some weird emotion go through her husband's concerned eyes. It peculiarly seemed like…jealousy?

"Ardeth!? Look, Ardeth or no Ardeth, I want you to stick to me at all times, okay?" he said in one of his deep menacing tones that meant 'or else'. She smiling reassuringly at him- then suddenly she looked around the room, fright sparkling in her mind again.

"Oh my God…" she whispered, biting her lip, then she cried, "Rick, did you check on Alex before coming here?" Rick searched her face before registering what she had said. He muttered the word that burst out in his mind at the realization; "Oh shit."

The couple hurried out of the kitchen, Eve still in her night gown and Rick still topless and armed with his trusted shotgun. They raced up the stairs, taking them 7 at a time (well, Rick anyway) and burst into their son's bedroom, panting with their hearts in their throats with worry.

The room was empty.

Looking at Alex's still crumpled bed sheets in desperation, Eve clung to Rick's arm, who was seething with anger as he examined the dark bedroom.

"Those shitheads," he growled, "Eve, stay here. I'm sure they took him outside.."

"No you are not! Going out there without me! Get me a gun, a sword, a flipping table leg if that's all we've got, but don't leave me here like some helpless little girl!" she protested hotly, blood pumping in her temple. Rick frowned down at her, then after a little hesitation gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before sprinting back out of the room, yelling, "Meet me back outside!" over his shoulder as he pounced down the stairs. Pleased that she could fight, and thinking about how she loved Rick even more for considering her as an able enough woman to handle his weapons, she leapt hurriedly out of their son's room and made for their bedroom, tugging her husband's prized gunny-sack from under the bed. She slung an ammo-belt over her shoulder, plucking the Thompson out of its straps and fully loading it, rushing back out onto the landing.

_Okay, this is a little crazy. I have never used a machine gun, ever, in my life. Let's just hope I don't accidentally mutilate any family members,_ she thought half-heartedly as she slid down the banister, clutching the gun to her chest, her heart pounding painfully hard against her ribcage.

Bursting out of the front doors, she readied the gun and hopped down the house-entrance stairs, a fierce look on her face.

She almost tripped and stumbled over at the spectacle she walking in on.

Standing behind an equally surprised Rick, she watched as a very tall black woman concealed behind a maroon cloak held a kneeling Ardeth's head up by his raven black hair with a pleased grin on her face. A glinting scimitar hung at her belted waist, dark blood splashed over it as a result of the night's action. To her left there stood five fully armed red-clad warriors, pointing their rifles at the O'Connells menacingly. They had small, blood-red turbans on their heads and their clothes resembled those of the cultists Hafez had led two years before.

To her right, there were two warriors struggling to keep hold of a very squirmy Alex, who was quite bravely insulting them in Rick's style.

"Alex!" gasped Eve, her free hand flying to her mouth. "What do you want with him!?"

"Let me _go_!" Alex cried vainly, attempting to bite one of the soldier's hands. He earned a harsh slap across the face, the dry sound of it resounding in poor Eve's ears.

"Let him go you darned-!" Evelyn screamed, stomping forwards- Rick held out his arm to stop her. He was hanging his head in defeat, knowing exactly what they planned to do. The black girl sneered at the couple, yanking Ardeth's hair painfully. The tortured Medji let out a grunt of pain- his cloak was torn just about everywhere, blood staining the silver moon crests that decorated it, revealing his bar chest underneath that was also slit and cut, blood dripping down to the floor from his wounds. He grinded his teeth together, restraining a cry of pain. This girl, whoever she was, was the most skilled swordswoman he had ever encountered, even in his practice fights with fellow Medji warriors.

"We'll give you back your son and spare your life if you hand over the lady," the black girl called to Rick, her hand tangled in Ardeth's dark locks of hair.

Rick closed his eyes. He had seen this coming, and he had been stupid enough not to check on his son's room before rushing down to the kitchen- he had been so damn rash! Now, his mistake cost him gravely. Whatever choice he made, he lost anyway.

Eve glared at the girl, wondering who the hell she was and why she was again needed in their dark rituals. A jab of hatred stung her heart as she saw her yanking again at Ardeth's head, making him kneel up straighter.

"What are you going to do with Ardeth!?" she cried, not knowing what to do. Rick was thinking desperately- his wife or his son? His beloved little devilishly charming librarian, or his beloved, brave boy?

A glint of hate flashed through the black girl's face. She kicked her 'guest' in the back, smirking with the pleasure of seeing him hurtle forwards, yelping in pain.

"Stop that!" Eve shouted desperately, tears leaking out of her anxious eyes.

"I'll enjoy every minute of pain I'll have him experience," she snarled, "He took away my whole life. Now he's gonna pay dearly for that mistake." She yanked him back to his knees with his hair, causing him to groan again.

"You can't take him AND my wife!" Rick yelled at her angrily, his blood beginning to boil, before letting a whole string of colourful insults pour from his mouth. The black woman looked thoroughly amused at this, irritably cocking her head to the side till he ran out of steam.

"Oh, don't worry for your wife. No harm will come to her- you have my word. It's either her cooperation or your son's life. Choose wisely, American." The woman sneered at him.

"Oh? _Really?_ You can stuff your 'word' up your ass for all I care, lady! The minute you're shipping off my family, I'll come and massacre you and your little buddies anyway to get them back, so stop being idiots and give me back my son!" Rick protested hotly, his grip on his shotgun becoming slippery with sweat.

"I sincerely doubt that," the black assassin hissed softly, lifting a perfect eyebrow up as three more of her men emerged from the manor behind Rick and, before he could react, kicked him to the ground and held him there with their feet on his back and their guns cocked at his head.

"NO!" Evelyn screamed, her useless gun still clutched between her clammy hands. "I-if I go with you, Rick and Alex will be spared?" She stammered at the lady, taking a step forward.

"EVE, NO!" Rick yelled at her, one of the men knocking the tip of his gun against his skull painfully.

"Of course," The black woman nodded, her voice as silky as a snake's slither. "And, like I said, no harm will come to you. Well, you won't be killed anyway," she added sweetly.

Her heart pounding relentlessly in her throat, Eve shot a look at her husband, who was sprawled out on the floor, looking up at her with a heart-wrenching sadness in his eyes. This sadness turned to determination as he read her face, knowing that she was going to go with them to spare his life.

_I'll come get you back, baby_, his eyes seemed to say silently to his wife.

Gulping all the inner pain back as she looked longingly at Rick, Evelyn turned her back on him and advanced shakily towards the black assassin.

A click of the woman's fingers later, Alex was thrown carelessly to the ground, and the eight enemies turned to their cars with their hostages in a tight grip. The three other cultists tied up and gagged father and son before hopping into the second car and taking off.


	5. Daughter of the Dead Man

a&n: Okay, so this chapter is gonna be a little less of an action!fest compared to the last one. Certainly wasn't much fun to write, but there you go. Hope you like it anyway! Keep guessing at who the black woman is...

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter five  
_Daughter of the Dead Man_**

**xxx**

Ardeth's sore face hit the hard, unleveled ground as he was carelessly chucked down face-first. With a difficultly suppressed grunt of pain, he twisted and writhed on his scorched belly, his hands tied behind his back with tight, scratchy rope and his feet equally tied together. Looking up through his tangled bangs of raven hair that had fallen over his face, the dark Medji looked up at his surroundings.

He was in an enclosed room, completely empty save for his presence and that of his aggressor, who was still behind him. The walls stood proudly around his flanks, made of dirty pale beige wood, with a few streaks of blood here and there, and to Ardeth's horror, faint nail scratch-marks could still be seen carved in the sturdy wood. He gulped, scenarios playing in his head of the times his fellow Medji had recounted periods when they had been captured and forced to talk of the whereabouts of their army. He silently commended them for their bravery, beginning to understand what sort of icy fear torture brang to one's heart.

The floor was just heaped, dry stinking earth. Its putrid smell infiltrated his nostrils, its dirty texture rubbing against his open wounds and the armies of bacteria that inhabited it marching into his bloodlines fearlessly. He shuddered involuntarily, his wrists automatically trying their best to wriggle free of their tightly bound ropes.

"I wouldn't even try that, Medji," came a grave feminine voice from behind him. He could hear that infuriating amusement that floated softly on her words. So, she enjoyed watching him so helpless… when her time came, he vowed not to have mercy, even if he usually thought it wrong to slay women.

Suddenly he felt that all-too-familiar pokey hand come and yank at his hair, literally pulling him back so that he was kneeling up. His scalp already sending rivers of crimson blood down his face, Ardeth yelled out in pain until she let go of him and walked over to face him.

For the sake of the pride that he was rapidly losing anyway, Ardeth let his head hang, his blazing obsidian eyes fixed on the rough terrain at her jeweled feet.

"Well? No puppy-dog stares? Ksh, tactless man," The woman laughed, taking the opportunity that he was staring at her feet to wickedly kick a dollop of earth into her captive's face.

"Ugh!" Ardeth groaned, feeling the devilish little grains of infested earth sting his wounds. He was sure the stuff had pressurized salt in it. Or acid, while he was at it. This woman, whoever she was, enjoyed very much being sadistic.

Still, he said nothing, staring without much interest at the strange toe-rings the African girl was wearing, wondering why the hell he didn't just give in to his instincts and ram into her, make her fall over, then punch her face into the earth till it disappeared beneath it in a shower of blood. She had humiliated him before his friends, she had mishandled his best friends' son, and she had disgracefully kidnapped-

He gasped slightly, then before she could grace his ears with more obscenities, he demanded in an aggravated tone, "What have you done with Eve?"

The woman laughed, then she kicked at his face with her toes unceremoniously, apparently having fun.

"Oh so that's the little bitch's name," she chattered quite happily, "You know, we had quite a hard time with her. Kept yelling for you like some moaning street-whore when you were unconscious and all. Then when we tried putting her to sleep she near as hell bit one of my men's fingers off. Man was she a feisty little girl,"

Ardeth's gauge of anger very nearly exploded, along with his urge to just bite the damned lady's aggressive toes right off, even though it just seemed wrong. Still, wasn't it awkward to finger someone's face with your toes while insulting all-out this person's friend?

"Will you stop that!" he cried in exasperation, ducking his head out of the deranged lady's toe-range. She laughed evilly, then she crouched in front of his face and jabbed a finger at his chin, forcing him to look at her.

He was as shocked as he was enthralled by her stunning beauty. She had golden-green shimmering eyes outlined by long eyelashes, an almost perfect, flat nose and voluminous olive-coloured lips that were stretched in an ironic smile. Her thick raven coloured hair was pulled back to mid-crania in tight tresses before it was set free again, its bushy composure surrounding her head like a sombre halo. She had to be somewhere in her early twenties. But that look she gave him- that look of pure loathing even though she was smiling a smile that did not reach her eyes- he could swear on his life that he had seen it before.

Their faces were dangerously close, and he could smell some kind of distant, exotic scent floating around her like an attiring aura of perfume. Everything on the exterior of this woman seemed so natural in its beauty- a pity that her harsh interior spoiled the image.

"Are you wondering why you were brought here, pesky little man?" she whispered, her hot breath washing over his face, making him shudder absently.

"No," he shot back stubbornly, refusing to succumb to this trap. "You plan to get information on my army. That I know," The girl gave a loud, mocking laugh, her painful finger still digging its jagged nail into his chin.

"Tt-tt-tt… so sure of ourselves, are we? Though thanks for the information. I might just keep you alive so you can enlighten me a little more. But that isn't why I plan to do what you're going to endure, little Medji." Ardeth desperately tried to lean his head as far back as possible, as the girl approached her pretty face at an intimate proximity.

"Who are you," he growled menacingly, daring her to come any closer.

And then she did. Within the next second, Ardeth found himself with lips pressing fully over his, the sheer force of the kiss almost knocking him backwards. It held none of the passionate beauty a blessing such as this should hold, instead it held some sort of vengeful demeanour, assaulting him like a blow rather than a kiss. Then suddenly, dazed as he was, she tore away from him and stood up, sending her bare heel sharply into the space she had just kissed, this time succeeding in sending him hurtling backwards, his neck cracking back as his head was sent back to almost touch his shoulder blades under to the kick's power.

"There you are," the woman hissed evilly, like she had just offered him something, "_A blessing from a dead man's daughter,_" She spat this last sentence at him in his natal tongue- Arabic. Though his vision was swimming in a blur before his eyes, his lips were cracking and dripping blood down his chin, his teeth were surely dented and his head felt like it had been cracked open, he registered that last part with mild surprise, before tumbling into the abyss of unconsciousness.

**xxx**

A door slammed open noisily.

"Argh, isn't the damn train moving already?" snapped a clearly angry female voice.

"It's gonna start up real soon," came a man's reply, his voice slightly accentuated.

"By the way, where did you stash that Medji guy? Don't you wanna wash him before you deal with him? The guy reeks, plus he's spewing blood everywhere." A second man inquired. There was a snort from the woman.

"Pah! I dumped him in the camel wagon. There weren't any camels, or any other bleeding wimps of victims, only sand and…leftovers," she said evilly, and the two men laughed.

"Leeu, you sick-minded woman," the man with the accent exclaimed.

"Well, he deserves bloody well everything he's gonna get. Don't go lecturing your boss, Jackson." This 'Leeu' person said coldly.

Eve felt a fearful pang in her heart. She edged cautiously on the brink of consciousness, having just pulled out of hour-long sleep, and was now subjected to hearing this conversation. She was laying awkwardly on her side on a double-seat with her members tightly bound together with rope. What was happening? Where was she? Where was Ardeth?

The events of last night slowly crept their way back to her memory. She had bartered her own life for Alex and Rick's, after a heated shoot-out in their own mansion-

_And the destruction of my KITCHEN!_ She thought angrily, before thinking how mundane that sounded in her current situation.

And what about her old Medji friend who had been dragged along for God-knows-what reason? Her heart went out to him as she thought of all his wounds and how that Leeu had brutally 'handled' him. Judging by what she had heard, he was in a much more complex situation- if she truly trusted this woman's word, no harm would come to her, but Ardeth was subject to her vengeance. And boy did Eve not want to get that woman annoyed.

She scowled at herself inwardly- here she was, tied up and gagged, and all she could think about was Ardeth and her kitchen. The reincarnated princess decided it was time to try and make up some kind of plan to escape.

Firstly, her surroundings were crucial, since they would be what she would be trying so hard to get _away_ from. Sliding her eyes open veeery slowly, so she wouldn't attract much attention, and looked around herself.

She very nearly swore.

_A train,_ she whimpered hopelessly to herself, starting to feel claustrophobia creeping up on her brain, _why oh why is it always a train? We're getting shipped off somewhere far away from home, AGAIN… and once again Jonathan stays safely at home. Damn him!_

She was in a very posh-looking compartment, rows of crimson double-seats wedged up against the walls, the golden-boarded windows letting sunlight pour into the wagon.

Her three enemies were on the other side of the compartment, their heads together as they plotted something that smelt rotten.

Eve gave a squeaked gasp as she saw that infamous ebony black Book of the Dead resting on the double seat that faced her. W-what did they plan to do with her?

_Nefertiri, if this has got something to do with your milky Egyptian ass, then I swear-!!_

She hoped against all odds that they wouldn't try something crazy like, like, well bringing back their old bald friend back from the grave a THIRD time. _Oh my Gosh,_ that was undoubtedly their plan, now that she thought about it!

In ancient times, she must have known her way around the sacred Temples of the Upper Kingdom with her eyes closed and hands tied behind her back. There was no doubt they were going to use her ancient knowledge to dig up that rotted beetle-infested freak up from his grave again. And then what? He would try to 'wipe out the world' all over again?

She sighed. _This is so darned unoriginal._ Why couldn't the damn cultists ever get modern for once?

"Oh, look who's finally back into the real world!" suddenly exclaimed a pleased female voice. Eve's heart rate tripled as she heard that deep, sarcastic tone- she was sure she had heard that voice before somewhere… She tried twisting her head at an impossible angle to see the woman's whereabouts, arousing the three enemies' amusement.

"Now, now, Princess, don't try breaking your precious neck. That's for later." Leeu snarled, coming right up beside her in a swish of her maroon cloak and settling in the sit infront of her, right by the Black Book. Eve glared bitterly at the woman's smirking emerald eyes, a fresh surge of hatred making her shudder in anticipation.

"What have you done with Ardeth?" she demanded strictly to know, feeling very vulnerable; dumped on her side and still in her frilly nightdress. Leeu lifted a perfectly plucked eyebrow and gave her a sad smile, letting her viper eyes run over Eve's frame in disgust.

"Awww, first thoughts for the boyfriend, huh?" she snarled, her piercing gaze falling to gaze lovingly at the ancient Book, letting her bony hand caress its shining cover. "Well, I won't leave you trembling in suspense my darling." She leaned closer to Eve's face, enjoying every minute of this psychological torture she was inflicting on her victim's anxious mind.

"He's going to _die_, sweetie. First off, his dignity's gonna get wiped out. Second, his pride. Then I might just skin him and whip his body with a salt-covered whip. But I'm hesitating, see. Maybe I should just whip up some ancient curse, the Hom-Dai or something, and make him suffer for eternity. What do you think, sweetheart?" She finished, pouting her thick lips and her eyes going all cute and round like an innocent little girl's face trying to convince people she didn't steal from the cookie jar. Still very much amused, she ran a hand over Eve's rough cheek and giggled.

"It's so fun, Eve." She said mischievously, as if she was talking to her best friend.

Evelyn was SO not gonna let that through without a vengeance. How dare this, this despicable woman twist and coil her heart between her bony fingers and enjoy it!? How could she say such horrible things about one of her best friends to her face!?

The brave librarian remembered what Rick had taught her, her brow knitting together in pure anger. She pursed her lips and jerked her head forwards, headbutting the woman's brow with her powerful forehead, but she immediately felt pain stinging at the front of her head, scorning herself for using that tactic. How the hell did Rick do it without getting hurt??

Leeu was sent hurtling back into her seat with a surprised cry of pain, her ringed hand flying to her forehead.

"Just so you know, my name is Evelyn. Ev-el-yn, alright? And second, you won't be able to do all those horrible obscenities you claim you're hesitating with, because even if you try so hard to stop him, my HUSBAND will come and kick your ass to the moon before you'll even TOUCH us with those skinny little pokey fingers of yours. Trust me, if you even try anything on us, you'll seriously be regretting it. And _I_ give you _my_ word on that, woman!"  
Intense flames shot through the black viper's infuriated eyes. She swiped a claw across her captive's delicate face, her face creasing in anger. How could the little bitch even consider spitting back at her face?

"The only person that will be regretting her actions here is _you_, you little prehistoric cow! I vowed to you that no physical harm would come to you, since that's not what we're after! But you just want everything to be bloody, right? If you're stupid enough to hit back at me, then you must honestly be some blood-crazed hysteric," she hissed at the princess, her tongue as hatefully venomous as a snake's.

"Oh but you'll be sincerely regretting what you just did, darling. See, I'm not allowed to touch you, since you're vital for our operation. But I'll quite happily be venting my anger out on your boyfriend back in the torture chamber over there," She smiled ironically at Eve, raking a hand through her bush of thick ebony hair carelessly. Leeu clapped her palms against her knees as the train began to hum and stir, awaking from its deep sleep and rattling its engines to life.

"Ah, finally! Right, you'll be staying here my dear Princess. Guys, gag her for me, please. I won't have her use that stingy tongue of hers at anyone else while I _see to _your little Medji friend."

"What did you mean by 'no physical harm'!? HEY BITCH! How about non-physical harm, huh!?" Eve screamed after her as Leeu stood up and swiped her elegant cloak away from her shapely legs, taking long strides towards the other end of the cabin.

Not even bothering with an answer, the snake lady clicked her sharp fingers at her scrawny acolytes and exited the compartment, disappearing into the next wagon in a swish of her long cloak.

**xxx**

The young man shakily popped an eyelid upwards, his tiny, petrified breaths bursting out of his chest like a mouse. He quickly eyed his surroundings, evaluating with deep relief that it was safe to be on the move again.

Jonathan kicked the massacred kitchen chair from ontop of his painfully curved back and stood up, wiping his clammy hands on his pyjamas, trying to look as composed as possible. What had that crazy shootout been about!? He had almost died, damn it! And his friends risked their lives like mad people, trying to kill the enemy. Well, at least _he_ had been dignified enough not to commit illegal homicide and not get killed at the same time.

_Hahh, Jonathan old boy, you're gonna have to stop being such a gentleman one of these days_, he thought pleasantly, checking his pyjamas over to see if any harm had come to the poor things. There! A Scratch!! Those bastards had put holes in his favourite piece of clothing in the world. Vengeance was an insurmountable option here. And his perfect, gelled haircut had been utterly spoiled to scrubbing-brush style as he had hid under that chair! The young violated man let a growl escape his throat. Those stupid insensitive people, whoever they were!

After a little more time checking himself over, Jonathan decided that the rest of him was under perfect condition. He smiled to himself, congratulating himself for being such a damned smart person once again, straightening his striped top and running a composed hand through his hair.

And then he realized a little something. Where were his clumsy, thoughtless teammates? Had they thrown their lives away rashly as they sprang out at the enemy like madmen? Ugh, why didn't they ever take influence from his sensible acts? Jonathan scowled under his breath. Where were their minds?

"Eve? Rick? Hey, uh, ANYONE!?" he yelled into the deep darkness of the mansion, stepping over a sea of broken glass and wood shards, empty cartridges and remnants of the poor kitchen chairs. "Chaps? Are you here? HELLLOOOOO?"

The sole man jogged up and down his mansion, looking high and low for his friends. Though he tried to push it down, fear began to clog uncomfortably in his windpipe.

"Just don't answer!!" he cried anxiously, bursting out of his bedroom and taking the stairs 20 at a time. Well he liked to think he could, anyway.

He kicked the front door open whilst yelling his lungs out in fear, "PEEOOPPPLLLLLEEEEEE??????"

"Mmhmmhmhmm!"

Mildly surprised, Jonathan looked down at the driveway, his yell finishing in an anguished squeak as he saw two of his companions- his brother-in-law and nephew, tied up and gagged on the floor. Rick had been trying to wriggle and belly flop nearer to his son to try and unbind him from his ropes with…his toes…and as he saw Jonathan emerging like a maniac from their mansion, he let out a groan behind his gagged lips.

That clown had an infuriating immunity to danger, however stupid he was.

"Mmmhm! Mmmmmhm!" shouted Rick, his eyes blazing up at his brother-in-law. Jonathan worked out that it must've originally been something like 'get your F-CKING ass over and get these F-CKING ropes off us you little pisshead!' Lifting an eyebrow, he decided that that little piece of cloth gagging his friend was rather handy.

He quickly hopped down the steps and flumped down next to Alex first, freeing the little wriggling body from his ropes. Alex cracked his jaw and sat up in the earth, bending his back to make sure his vertebrae was still capable of movement.

"Uncle John, how come everyone was fighting out here and you were the only one sitting inside?" he groaned at his uncle inquiringly, rubbing his knees free of the earth before it stung his cuts and scratches.

Rick answered something violent in muted muffles, and Jonathan decided he preferred not to guess the angry man's answer. He quickly undid his brother-in-law's ropes and yanked the gag away from his mouth, then as soon as Rick was free, Jonathan leapt back with a yelp, afraid that the man might make him relive the pain back at the Cairo prison.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I-I-I-I was just s-so shocked, I passed out beneath my chair! I-I would've come and help you b-but, I-" he stammered, watching fearfully as Rick heaved himself up onto his knees, clearing away the remainders of ropes from his tough wrists. He cracked his knuckles at his dear brother.

"Well let's hope for your sake that your little whimpers are true," he snarled, before scooping his sons into his son into his arms, relief and dread running through his mind at neck-breaking speed. One word kept racing through his head, chanting a hymn of anguish as it went; _Evelyn...Evelyn…Evelyn…_

_I'll get you back, baby. Just you wait_.

"You okay?" he asked his son quietly, not wanting to reveal his worry to his young boy.

"Yeah, yeah. But we've gotta go help Mum, before it's too late! Like Ardeth said, the cultists want to try something on her... We've gotta hurry up!" the little boy cried, his worry written all over his scruffy boyish face.

"I know. I know. Don't worry, we'll-"

"Um, excuse me? Did I miss out on something here?" Jonathan inquired irritably, frowning at his two friends on his dear sister's mention. "Has Eve got herself into trouble again?"

Father and son sighed in exasperation, completely unamused. Icy hands of fear had gripped both their hearts, and neither could wait to go after those idiot cultists and give them a good beating.

"Late news. Eve's been kidnapped, and Ardeth too, to be tortured." Rick announced, dread making him drop his eyes as he said the words- as if they sealed the horrible truth of it all. He could not believe this was happening all over again. How had he let this happen? How could he have let his wife get into danger's way again? What a husband he made…

"And the plan is to go get them back. Right. Count me in, if it doesn't include mummies," Jonathan shivered as he said this, edging closer to Rick as he saw that the latter was somewhat calmer than usual.

"One thing that'll be a little trouble- we don't know shit about where they were hauled off to." Rick sighed, his fingers absently ruffling his precious son's thick blond curls.

"Thebes?" Alex hazarded a guess, as it was always there that the enemies took off. Rick smiled sadly at him.

"Well, we'll just have to search there first, I guess. But something tells me they won't be going there." He said, looking hard at the earth floor.

"Something tells you?" echoed Jonathan, frowning curiously at his friend.

"Well, that cultist bitch was giving us her word that no harm would come to Eve. If we believe her…that would mean they need her. And why do you think someone would need Eve?" Rick tested his brother, getting up from the floor and grabbing his shotgun along the way.

"Um… her…" Beauty? Smartness? Hieroglyphic translation? _Cooking_? "Enlighten me, old chap!"

"Ugh." How could his only brother-in-law have an IQ equal to that of a gerbil? _Dead_ gerbil, for that matter. Wait, gerbils are actually quite smart. "It's her ancient life, you smartass."

For some reason Jonathan had dreaded hearing that.

"I guess this means another hot pursuit, eh. Well, that's just great. Superb. _Fabulous_…"


	6. Shared Vision

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter six  
_Shared vision_**

**xxx**

Eve coughed.

She had been dumped into this dark, dank cell place in the basement of her enemy's hideout. Since they had stuffed a linen bag over her face and just slung her down here like a bag of trash, she hadn't had the chance to see the interior of the actual first floor, but she knew for one that they were in a single-storey house.

With a really, _really_ stinking basement.

Her nightie, which had turned from pristine blanche to some horrible mucky grey colour due to all the rough handling, had scratches and holes here and there, revealing her pale exposed skin to the cold exterior- so whenever the poor girl sat down, she felt the freezing coldness of the awkward stone floor on her legs, making her automatically retract into a crouching position. There was a single window, way high up above her head, and so tiny that it only blessed the ugly, equally grey-stoned ceiling of its light, leaving the bottom of the cell devoid of any visibility. Well, if one didn't count the very hardly distinguishable outline of the bowl of slop they had given her as lunch.

Separating the cell from the rest of the basement, there was a thin wooden wall with a single door that obviously had a billion locks on the other side of it. Eve thought with a hopeless grin that, if Rick had been in her position, he could've easily knocked it down by ramming into it with his powerful shoulder- of course, being the dimwit she was, she had tried and resulted in a very big, blue-ish grey bruise on her shoulder and her night's tiny sleeve being completely ripped off.

"Why am I so helpless?" she moaned to herself, more annoyed now than she was sad. As she thought back to her adventures she saw that she had somewhat bloomed from the complete, pitiful little damsel-in-distress, to the adventurous, suicidal woman, and then regressed right back to stage 1. Here, she was completely cut off from her family, and the only person she supposed she could count on was Ardeth- but it was probably him that needed rescuing more than her.

Hoping that he would somehow be okay, and at least not have experienced the worst already, Evelyn gingerly approached the stink that came from that suspicious bowl of…food? Her stomach rumbled impatiently, demanding to be fed. Not surprisingly, since she hadn't eaten a proper meal in three days running now. Either this camel spit thing, or a get-thin-quick diet by just not eating.

She hesitantly dipped a finger in the slop, feeling its gungy, cold composure. When she tried tugging her finger back out, the stuff stubbornly clung to her trapped digit, stretching upwards like goo, then it finally let her go and oozed back into the bowl.

Hm. Camel spit indeed- and a very sick camel's at that. Evelyn desperately held back her breath, thinking, _Oh my god, I'm gonna be sick, I'm gonna be sick._

Suddenly she heard rough, scraggly footsteps coming down into the basement, seemingly trailing something along behind them. Eve looked at the door that was submerged in darkness, anticipating something unknown- dessert, maybe?

Then, after the heavy metallic KA-CHANK of all the locks being pulled back, one of the guards kicked the door open and hurled something into the cell before hurriedly closing the door again, guffawing stupidly.

This 'thing' crumbled to the hard floor face first, before it began to writhe about on itself, groaning in pain. Eve frowned- then realization finally dawned on her confused senses.

"Ardeth!" she cried, pattering the floor blindly with her small hands before grasping rough, ripped material between her fingers. She felt her way up the long strips of material before coming into contact with something hard and warm- Ardeth's leg. She squinted desperately in the dark, trying to make out his frame. "Are you alright? Ardeth!"

"Uh…ugh.." The poor, beaten up Medji grunted, shuffling up to lean on his battered elbow and adjust his sharp eyes to the obscurity. "Eve? Is that you?"

The two of them began groping clumsily for each other in the dark, trying to find each other's faces as they shuffled on their knees towards one another. Finally Eve's cold little hands found their way up to her friend's face, feeling his rough cheeks and running over thin cuts and humidity. She gasped.

"I think it is a good thing there is a lack of light in this place," Ardeth said black-humouredly, "You wouldn't want to see the state of me,"

"You're hurt, you- you're bleeding all over, Ardeth!" Eve was running her fingers along his entire face and neck, feeling countless wounds under her gentle touch and some kind of warm wetness smudge onto her skin. "What on Earth did she do to you?" she whispered to herself as she began to make out her friend's outline in the dark.

"That is of no importance," he stated gruffly, finding his friend's shoulders with his trembling hands. "They haven't tried anything with you yet, have they?"

" 'Yet' is the word, but no, I'm alright."

"No, you're not- you haven't eaten or slept decently in days, Evelyn, and you're constantly on the move," protested Ardeth, finding the tattered remains of Eve's sleeves beneath his tattooed hands.

"I could say the same about you, so let's just leave it at this- I'm in perfect condition, and you're as beaten up as O'Connell the day we met him at the Cairo prison. No, wait- much worse than that." Eve shot back, letting her hands drop to her lap, not wanting to find out any more open gashes and blood on her poor friend's body. She thought of Rick as Ardeth briefly felt her cheeks for any injuries, recalling how good it had felt to feel his loving touch again, only to be torn brutally away from him once more. Why couldn't the damned cultists, and everyone else, just leave her family alone? They were beginning to be a real threat, especially for Alex, thereby restricting her from having any more children for their safety's sake. Some might consider it good to be always out and about with their children, but to be up and about with walking talking mummies and half scorpion mutants was another thing entirely.

Why was she so forsaken? It was all her dear alter ego's fault. Oooh, how she dearly wished to rip that lady out of her entire being and throw her away for good. She was buried! Mummified and brainless! How could she still be chucking innocent families into trouble?

Ardeth noticed his friend's miserable lapse into silence. He decided to let her have a minute alone, to think of her family, undoubtedly, get everything untangled in her mind, before trying to comfort her. Somehow. He'd find a way…

He pressed his clumsy palms against the floor and attempted to stand, his whole body jerking in pain as his fresh wounds were ripped open even further. Gritting his teeth, Ardeth decided it was best not to force his battered up body to its extremes in the current situation. He slumped back onto his backside disgracefully, leaning his back against the wall. Some kind of strange stink came and graced his nostrils with its crude smell, but he was too exhausted to investigate.

"Evelyn," he called out to her tiredly. He heard her shuffled uncomfortably in the darkness. "Eve, I think I'm going to rest. Wake me if you need anything." Observing how stupid that sounded as he said it- what sort of aid could he possibly be to her in this place? – Ardeth tried to spread the tattered remnants of his prized Medji cloak over the floor and lay down on it, looking up at the bleak ceiling without much interest. His wary eyelids soon began to droop, and all of his dull aches and stinging wounds began to dissipate as his senses slipped away from him, leaving him in a blissful sleep.

Pretty soon Eve decided that there was nothing really to do in the cell if you didn't count desperately holding puke back- crawling towards the only being that radiated heat, she huddled close to her sleeping friend and decided to rest against the wall beside him. And then maybe just let her members trail on the floor to rest.

And…and then maybe just close her eyes.

Just for a minute.

**xxx**

The slave girl carefully dipped her blunt wooden instrument into the dark paint and let it soak in the black liquid, gathering as much of it as possible on the small object. Her client was sitting in a dipped-back wooden chair that had various patterns and drawing carved into it and gold stems coiling around its surface- a real beauty of architecture. It suited her client perfectly when it came to appearances.

But the young woman knew that her client wasn't as pretty as her exterior would tend to have people believe. She bent over the Princess's deep hazel eyes and carefully applied the paint around them, soaking her client's long eyelashes in it.

"Um…are you happy with the way I painted your mask?" the slave girl asked timidly, attempting to talk with the Princess, since this heavy silence was beginning to unnerve her. Nefertiri's answer startled her more than anything else.

"How dare you talk to me with your filthy Stranger tongue, slave? Do you think all I have time for is pointless babbles with my servants? Know this- we are not on the same scale, girl. I have already told you that I do not wish to commune with the likes of you. So spare me of your pointless blathering, if you please." The Princess spat back at her, an icy politeness that she could hardly keep up within her harsh voice. How dare the slave girl treat her like an equal by talking to her like that? It simply was not right in the Palace. And to make things worse, this young woman was Nefertiri's least favourite in all the slaves and servants. The girl was constantly trying to warm up to the princess- despicable, just downright inexcusable.

But, even though her father listened quite attentively to her rants and usually carried his daughter's requests out, this time he had refused to kick the slave girl out of the palace. And for who's sake? Well, if it wasn't his daughters or son, it was of course for his future wife.

For a reason she did not know of, Anck-su-Namun seemed to take a liking to this filthy Hebrew. Nefertiri's dislike for her future step-mother grew even more due to this, if that were even possible.

Nefertiri didn't notice the slave girl frown in annoyance as she carefully patterned the princess's neck. What did she care? The girl was probably used to being insulted by now.

The Princess peeped out through her mask's eye slits, readying her Sais in a very graceful position- her adversary completed the figure as she also held out her sharp weapons, both of them immobile, waiting for the Pharaoh's command.

They were both dressed in combat clothes- a short, light colourless skirt with a few colourful patterns of decoration along its hem, beaded belts hanging off of the waist-line, then an equally patterned crop top with several beaded strings hanging down from its border. Then, studded golden gauntlets were strapped tightly around each girl's wrists, showing off the shine and beauty of the outfit.

The two women wore pure gold masks with painted-on lips and slits for eyes, and the mask had a myriad of thin golden tresses that got muddled with each girl's hair. Their posture and attire were the embodiment of pure grace and beauty.

Each woman waiting, breathing rapidly in anticipation, their glinting Sais trembling in their secure grips.

Then suddenly came the much-awaited clap.

The two adversaries twirled effortlessly around, their golden braids whipping out behind them silently. They now stood back to back.

"PAH U!!" announced the Pharaoh, who was sitting on one side of the immensely decorated room, high up on his throne with his High Priest at his side, watching the two ladies in front of the crowd.

Nefertiri was the first to spin around to face her opponent. With a cry, she lunged at the woman who still stood with her back to her. She plunged forwards, her Sais held one at her waist, the other straight ahead of her.

Her opponent wasn't moving.

_Oh crap_.

In the millisecond that followed, Anck-su-Namun had ducked, flipped both her Sais into one hand to press the other flat on the floor. Supporting her entire weight on that hand, she held the other out and swung both legs out behind her- tripping her dreading adversary up. Nefertiri's eyes went wide as she felt her legs behind brushed away from beneath her, then she fell backwards with a strange sqwark of surprise. Her Sais flying out of her grip, Nefertiri landed on her hands, then with a grunt of effort heaved herself into a handstand before twirling her legs around, shooting herself back upwards and landing on her feet. She was weaponless- and this was about three seconds into the fight. She could just sense Anck-su-Namun sneer infuriatingly behind that rigid mask of hers. Showing her opponent the meaning of haste, the princess hurled herself to the side as Anck-su-Namun slashed her graceful weapons at the space she had just occupied- she threw one hand down as she executed a perfect one-handed cartwheel. Cleverly, the hand that supported her had landed on one of her Sais, and she curled her fingers around it just as she got back on her feet.

The claps could be heard resounding off the high ceilings and wide decorated walls of the chamber. Nefertiri effortlessly twirled around her opponent's next attack, then spun to face her and whipped her sole weapon up to cut Anck-su-Namun's sleeve. Outraged, the Pharaoh's future wife was momentarily distracted by this and held up her top with one hand, so Nefertiri took the chance and whipped the Sai from her opponent's other hand, so that they were both bearing one single weapon. She could hear her father and the High Priest laughing, as well as a few people in the crowd as scattered applause started up again.

Not sparing one second, the two women tended to their sticky situations. Nefertiri ducked out of Anck-su-Namun's range, rolling sideways to retrieve her other Sai, whilst her opponent took the time to quickly tied her sleeve to one of the beaded strings that hung off her top so the entire thing wouldn't sag and reveal… best left unrevealed, things. Furious, she swiped at Nefertiri as the princess was getting up, her attack getting easily parried by her adversary's quick reflexes.

Snorting quick breaths down her nostrils in anger, Anck-su-Namun realized that the clever princess had trapped her blade in her own two. Automatically trying to wriggle it free, the woman was vulnerably tugging away at her single Sai, so Nefertiri took the opportunity to snap her two weapons apart, sending the trapped Sai flying.

She grinned behind her mask. Now Anck-su-Namun was vulnerable.

But the opposing woman wasn't as weak as she looked when weaponless. She took hold of Nefertiri's wide-apart arms as soon as the princess jerked them out, dug one foot into the girl's stomach and boosted herself back into a beautiful back flip, landing quite a distance away from the princess.

Nefertiri was sent sprawling backwards as Anck-su-Namun's foot pushed into her stomach forcefully, she tried to stabilize herself but she was uncontrollably heel-stepping backwards with no balance whatsoever. Anck-su-Namun quickly dipped down to retrieve her weapons and sprinted towards her destabilized adversary, twirling the two prized Sais around herself gracefully, like a lethal dance. Nefertiri's eyes went wide as she continued to try and recover her equilibrium, stumbling more and more towards the crowd- Anck-su-Namun cleverly made a fake-swipe at her as the two women were at a close proximity again, and Nefertiri instantly had the reflex to parry. She threw her arms out to block with her weapons; this made her completely lose balance and fall backwards.

The back of her masked head would have surely met the crowd stair with a shower of blood had it not been for the person who caught her roughly, sliding his muscular arms beneath hers and setting her to the floor carefully.

Anck-su-Namun was laughing at her as the crowd clapped enthusiastically, applauding their future Queen for winning once again.

"I sincerely thought you had gotten better there, Nefertiri." She hissed, offering her a hand for the princess to help herself up. Under Seti's stern watch, Nefertiri grudgingly grabbed the woman's gauntlet-decorated wrist and allowed herself to be heaved up.

"I see _someone_ has been training you rather thoroughly. With demand or without, I wonder?..." Anck-su-Namun snarled at her opponent as they both came close-up, mask to mask. "I hoped you've thanked her enough. **(1)** You very nearly got me, there."

"I would've done so with_out_ her help anyways," Nefertiri spat back, then roughly yanked Anck-su-Namun's arm that she was still holding on to, making the woman go spinning backwards, and then she boosted herself off of the stair and into a series of back flips. Landing on her feet, she turned just in time to see Anck-su-Namun catch herself back with a no-handed cartwheel before the woman landed silently on her feet before the princess again, her mask smirking of its own accord.

_Better than yours!_

Nefertiri scowled under her breath. She would not let herself be beaten- especially as _he_ was watching.

The two ladies flipped their Sais expertly around their fingers, dancing towards each other, then they came to a halt and readied their Sais in a graceful posture once again, their make up a little smudged and their breaths a little more rapid.

Up next to the throne, the High Priest smirked for reasons known only by him.

Down by the bottom stairs, sitting by the rest of the crowd, another man smirked, his reasons kept also to himself.

The Pharaoh clapped his hands once again, laughing in amusement as he watched his two beloved women glare fiercely at each other, their members trembling in anticipation.

"Alle'!"

* * *

  
a&n: (1) is a reference to "Past and Present Collide", a Mummy masterpiece by the awesome Estora. -grin- If you haven't heard of her, then I suggest you get your butt over to her profile page and start reading through her works- she puts a lot of the material on ffdotnet to shame, I can guarantee you that. ;)  
And, sorry about the Sais fight, I know every single fic has one... I couldn't resist. :) Hugs to those who deign leave their opinion, you rock the world around and back again -heart-


	7. Reminiscence

a&n: Sorry for the huge wait, guys! I hope I can make up for it with this chapter... hm, I can't seem to write conversations that don't make the speakers sound half-retarded. Ah, well. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave even the tiniest one-liner review if that's all you've got to spare. ;)

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter seven  
_Reminiscence_**

**xxx**

The sun hung at its highest point in the flawless azure sky, bathing the tranquil sea of its cool rays. Little ripples and waves of deep oceanic blue licked at the rather obstructive man-made machine that was slicing its way through the water, giving birth to gurgling feathers of streaking froth as it went. The horizon was as clear as ever, and there was little over a week left till the passengers were to disembark in the Egyptian ports.

It was a shame that Izzy didn't host his Magic Carpet Corporation back in London, or anywhere in England instead of way away in Egypt- Rick and Jonathan still had rather unpleasant memories of their last boat rides, they weren't very keen on experiencing another without anticipating some black-clad fire catching psychos pressing hooks and guns to their sweaty faces.

That wasn't the most crucial thing that bothered the two now. Rick was standing glumly on the outdoor portion of the boat, his fists twisting around the banister that stopped him from tumbling into the churning waves below. He seemed somewhat detached from the world, the happy English folk a little way away from him playing poker on an outdoor table and letting outbursts of laughter profane the silence every now and then.

Rick frowned down at the sea, thinking about how the disturbed, mucky waves that the boat chuck back up unceremoniously greatly resembled his own twisted thoughts. His beloved was his primary obsession- then there was the usual pang of worry for his little boy who had insisted upon coming with them. The ancient 'Warrior for God' didn't blame the poor kid- his mother was always getting into trouble for some long-dead woman's troubles.

He thought back to that day in the double decker bus, that Jonathan had quite skillfully mashed to pieces, when he had said to Eve; "Are all librarians this much trouble?" He smirked black-humouredly. Well it certainly seemed like it, though he vowed silently to be there whenever she needed any help, since that was the first and foremost reason of being husband.

Few, seemed like perfectly harmless, normal every day things like being dad or husband turned out to be quite a handful to themselves. Not that he complained, of course.

Scoffing, he wondered if one day he'd catch himself thinking 'how strange that perfectly harmless, normal every day things like beating some 3000 year old guy's rotten ass off keep popping up nowadays?'

Someone coming up from behind him suddenly thwacked him friendlily across the shoulder, and next thing he knew he had just repressed the strangle-and-kick-in-the-balls reflex as Jonathan came up beside him, plopping his flimsy elbows on the chipped, rusty railing.

"Quite the day, isn't it O'Connell?" he attempted to try and ease the tension in the air with easy talk. "You could just imagine the Golden Pyramid blinking away at you in a sun like this- not that it can anymore anyway, HAH, since I've got the biggest diamond in the entire Universe back at home…pity the Eve seems so fixed on giving it to the British Museum. Ahh…good ol' mum."

"………………………..Yeah." Rick's answer was a grunt from deep within his throat, not powerful enough to squeeze through the constriction that the anguish had knitted together in his windpipe.

"Still, just imagine those leafy, bright green, luscious palm trees reaching up at the dirigible, just tickling it with the bushy leaf points…"

"With little pygmy shit-high monkeys climbing up to getcha with huge daggers."

"And those roaring waterfalls crashing down on the crystal-clear lakes…"

"The water licking some undead champ's ass..."

"…the Nile, Rick my boy, remember the Nile! Wasn't it sup_erb_?"

"What, with or with_out_ including a kilometer high tidal wave with some watery freak trying to EAT you?"

"Stop interrupting! I'm reliving the best adventure the entire human race has ever heard of, and you're talking about rotty, disgusting, icky little dead forest residents' icky little falling-off butts. Can't you ever have a normal conversation? Eh?" Jonathan retorted, running a hand through his scruffy thinning hair in a very dignified way. Unfortunately Rick was in no mood to get dragged into some senseless, amusing little cat fight with his brother-in-law. He sighed, shuffling his booted feet, and decided to drop it there and then. He didn't have time for this, though he would've greatly welcomed distraction from his torturing mind.

"Ah, I saw this coming too. Little old ball of mope Rick, brooding over his wife like there's no tomorrow and shoving _us_ out of the picture again. Ever wonder where I've witnessed this kinda thing before, eh?" Jonathan assaulted his friend's muscular shoulder with a stiff poke. "Your lady's not _dead_, my dear old fellow. That black girl said -"

In a painful flash poor Jonathan found himself shoved up against the banister, its rusty edge cutting into his back and his head tilting dangerously back above the waves, and two large, powerful hands curled tightly around his collar.

"I don't give two SHITS what that sonova Seti spat at us! Did it ever cross your thick mind that she wasn't being serious!? Look 'enemy' up in the dictionary, man! What do you know if Eve's dead or not, HUH?"

"U-eer-gg-"

"Well that's what the hell I'm saying! You don't! So don't try comforting anyone just yet, awright!? I think it would be better if you just shut that fat mouth of yours for once in your life!" When Rick had finished yelling his lungs out, he was positively violet in the face, Jonathan's face was marred with little flecks of spit, and they had both earned a mildly shocked gaze from the English folk a little way away form them. Silence ruled supreme, except for the continuous churn of the water below their feet.

Releasing Jonathan as if he was some kind of reeking rubbish bag, Rick accorded the trembling man a last glare before turning back to the waves, his face set and glum.

Nearly going into hyperventilation, Jonathan decided it would be best to _not_ get off this man's good books. He gave a weak laugh and squeezed out, "Ah, well, when you're not used to...it…um…"

Rick suddenly whirled around again, wearing a disbelieving face.

"Hell, JONATHAN! You left Alex alone again, you bloody stupid-" He brushed forcefully by his brother-in-law, going off to the inside of the boat to check on his son, muttering curses along the way, some that included a very baffled Jonathan's name.

Recovering from the shock and looking out to the endless rolling waves, Jonathan straightened his tiny tie and gulped.

_Eve, if you're out there… the first thing I'm gonna ask you is to reconsider your bloodied marriage! Gawd, if only you listened to my men's judgment. You would be in good hands, ol' mum._

He realized he was really starting to miss his lovely sister… for various reasons.

**xxx**

Dark raven hair threaded with a million pure gold beads flew around like obscure wings, whirling round their owner's masked faces. The two women's weapons clashed, rang through the air sweetly with metallic hisses, scraped dangerously across metal and marble, never touching skin.

Their dance was swift and graceful, two golden nymphs spinning effortlessly round and around each other, parrying and counterattacking with limitless beauty and lightness.

It was rather strange- from the heated, emotion-filled beginning round, this round was rather uneventful; no memorable stunts, no clever Sais manipulating, even though no other living creature could live up to the intense poetry their actions spelt out.

Sure the two royal adversaries were skilled, but apart from some rather unenthusiastic applause, the crowd began to urge them to get going with the action.

Anck-su-Namun was tersely brushing Nefertiri's attacks away from her, her concentrated face hiding behind a golden façade. She had to use all her willpower to not just slash crazily at her opponent and strike her down once and for all. There was too much emotional instability on her side regarding the princess- Anck-su-Namun just felt the surges of hatred coursing through her veins at each attack she made, careful not to communicate her feelings through body language.

As graceful as a cheetah, the Pharaoh's future wife danced around Nefertiri's rebellious attacks, carelessly parrying with her whetted weapons.

Nefertiri was also containing herself. She wanted so badly to unleash herself, but under the eyes of _him_ and her father, she had to learn inner control. She could not help thinking back to various training sessions that had spun out of control due to emotions- how she had felt so _free_, thinking of the glory she would have finally striking Anck-su-Namun down for the last time.

The tension was thick in the air, the icy coldness was practically tangible as the two Egyptian warriors twirled around and around each other.

The High Priest eyed his beloved's tense actions behind his kohl-rimmed gaze. His lips curled into a smile as he felt that hatred she was radiating. _Kill her, here and now! You know that's what we both want._ It would bring fewer complications if the daughter was seen to first...

Sensing some disturbance to the atmosphere, the great Pharaoh leaned forward in his throne, a glazed stare locked on the icy battle before his eyes.

Down in the crowd, a man shifted on his stair. He was looking at _her_ intensely, his lip caught between his teeth in anticipation.

Suddenly, in a burst of action, Nefertiri spun around and brought up both her weapons in a gold streak- one blocked her enemy's weapons, the other slashed straight up the woman's mask, its blade getting stuck beneath it and drawing blood from Anck-su-Namun's cheek. The assaulted woman gave a furious cry, quickly giving a swipe of her legs across Nefertiri's to destabilize her, and then retreated in a series of cartwheels.

A little way away, Anck-su-Namun gingerly poked a finger behind her mask, then as she drew it back out, her eyes widened at the sight of her own blood dripping from her thin digit. She could feel her blood boil deep within her bowels.

_Hm. You should not have done that, little girl…_

Instantly, concern flashed across the High Priest's face, and he automatically made to get down to his beloved- but, flinging out his arm, Seti I stopped him, his bearded face wearing a smug smile.

"I think she is quite all right."

Glaring at the Pharaoh, Imhotep felt his feelings for Nefertiri become even more critical, if it was possible. He silently willed Anck-su-Namun to wipe that smirk from Nefertiri's masked face with a permanent scar.

Nefertiri was running towards her adversary, wheeling her Sais skillfully around her graceful fingers, showing off her skill with the weapons as she advanced on her motionless opponent. Anck-su-Namun waited, her weapons down at her sides, her sombre eyes glaring out of her mask in determination. She could feel the small rivulets of blood trickling down her face, tracing paths of fire on her cheek. Her sharp eyes observed her enemy's every movement, calculating when the appropriate time would arrive…

Nefertiri didn't care whether Anck-su-Namun would move from that spot she was rooted in or not. This bubbling of excitement had taken her over since she had drawn blood from the woman she despised- she wasn't about to stop there.

And then, just as she came into Sai-range, Nefertiri found herself staring at Anck-su-Namun executing a beautiful, flawless back flip, throwing her arms out behind her to catch herself and her jeweled feet soaring upwards.

The princess's reflexes weren't quick enough- shock blanked her mind for a millisecond that she paid for dearly. Skidding to a clumsy halt, she began to take a step back-

Heels.

Heels!

HEELS!!  
_THWACK_. With immense power, Anck-su-Namun's heels crashed into the princess's exposed chin, cracking her jaw and sending her flying backwards, her head snapping back as painfully as if someone had popped her neck in two.

A burst of applause rang out through the crowd as everyone sat on the very edge of their step, watching in awe as Anck-su-Namun landed perfectly on her feet and blew her hair casually away from her mask's eye slits, whilst Nefertiri crashed to the floor with her head as far back as one's neck could manage, her Sais still adamantly gripped in her hands.

"See, when I told you she was perfectly fine?" laughed Seti, addressing his smug words to his High Priest, who was trying hard not to crack a pleased smile.

Though her brain seemed to be spinning relentlessly on itself, Nefertiri tried to grasp herself, concentrating on what harm she could inflict on that bitch for doing that to her. Opening her jaw sheepishly to crack it back into place, she sprang dizzily to her feet- to be slashed violently across the mask by Anck-su-Namun's angry attack.

_Whoa, thank God for that._

She didn't dare to think what state both women would be in when they slid up their masks. Parrying with difficulty her enemy's attacks, she noticed with worry that her breaths were becoming very heavy and laborious, and each breath she took seemed to make her exhausted lungs ache. She was continuously pushed back by Anck-su-Namun's fury, tiring with each struggling parry she made, trying to keep her skin intact all the while.

Anck-su-Namun seemed to be immune to fatigue. She twirled around with one knee up to thrust it painfully into the princess's stomach, ducked down low to touch her knee with her face and hit her opponent in the face with the other foot she swung up, doing impossible splits moves and dancing around with no signs that she would give up.

_This is going on longer than normal Sais fights. Why doesn't Father call her off me? She's bloody killing me!_

Nefertiri's chest was heaving painfully as she was nearly thrown to the floor a dozen times, miraculously heaving herself up each time.

_I can't win this. I can't. She's a professional, Gods damn it. Why do they always enjoy watching her butcher me? Why can't I be a little better when _he_'s watching?_

Suddenly, after some absurdly skillful blow and swipe of Anck-su-Namun's weapons, Nefertiri found herself standing sheepishly still, weaponless and with the pointed end of a lethal Sai digging into her neck.

The crowd burst into applause once again, the sound reverberating every where becoming painful to the ears.

Two pairs of eyes glared into each other with the pure essence of fury, as Anck-su-Namun controlled herself desperately to not plunge her weapon into the princess's throat.

_Look at your position- wouldn't it be easy to just let the Sai slip a little…and then…_

She shook her head. She wouldn't allow herself that pleasure…just yet.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Sais fighting is always so very enjoyable to watch when such emotion is played. Well done to you, my two most honorable fighters. I certainly feel it would be right to amend you both with a banquet of some sort." The Great Pharaoh announced, pleased as ever, as he descended the gold-covered steps importantly. People started to file out of the stairway, still clapping the two women enthusiastically.

With difficulty, Anck-su-Namun withdrew her weapon and stepped away from her foe, bowing her head in respect as the Pharaoh stepped down to their level.

Imhotep made a sign to his Priests to follow him out, making his way down the stairs. He tried not to let his insistent eyes wander to his beloved's frame, for their forbidden story's sake.

Seti I congratulated his daughter with a pleased smile and clapped her on the shoulder, evidently praising her for trying so hard.

She managed to force a smile at him, and suppress the urge of telling him how disappointed she was with herself and her petty fighting skills. She hadn't stood a chance. Still, she smiled.

Then, Seti made his way over to his future wife, and pulled up her mask slowly but surely, his creased, eager eyes darting to see her beautiful face.

Up on the steps, Imhotep had to summon all his willpower not to stop dead on the stairs.

Out of utmost respect, Anck-su-Namun kept her head slightly bowed and her obsidian eyes averted. The Pharaoh smiled at her, cocking his head as he murmured a few words to her that Nefertiri didn't quite catch- no matter, the princess managed to see the glimpse of emotion flashing like flames through Anck-su-Namun's lowered eyes.

She felt like laughing. Evil though it seemed, Nefertiri had not dropped her belief of Anck-su-Namun cheating on her father, and if she could not hurt the woman, then Seti could certainly inflict more damage than ever on his future wife, though he did so unconsciously.

Bending his head over Anck-su-Namun's, the Pharaoh closed his eyes and drew his future wife into a deep, intense kiss, forcing her to open her lips to let his tongue explore the inside of her mouth. She desperately tried to hide her revulsion, closing her eyes too and responding to him, though all the cells in her body screeched at her to pull away. She was subjected to this every night- she was used to it. But here? In front of…people?

No one dared to stare, as the Pharaoh's guests moved on to the banquet room. But this time, Imhotep couldn't help a sharp flame of hatred from lighting up in his dark eyes. Clasping his hands together a little too tightly in prayer-fashion, he motioned at his Priests to go around the couple.

Nefertiri could see his jaw clenching as the High Priest walked past her, a gleeful smirk upon her lips. Her eyes trailed after him as she tracked each stiff-with-anger step that he took as he and his priests made their way out.

"Long time no see, Princess."

Whirling around in surprise, Nefertiri found herself staring up at the handsome face of a tall, familiar man, who was beaming down at her with evident pleasure.

She smiled back at him in recognition. Hoping that he wasn't too disappointed by her fight, she bowed her head at his important persona. She then watched his adoring gaze never leave her eyes as he bowed back to her, knowing what magic tonight would hold…

**xxx**

Darkness greeted her tired eyes as she painfully drew her crusty eyelids back. Her sight wavered before her as her vision adjusted- her memory pouring back into her mind, Eve remembered that she was trapped in this horrible, dank cell place.  
Alone.

Wait. Wait. She wasn't alone- she could decipher someone drawing feeble breaths in front of her. Her hazelnut eyes made out a frame lying just beside herself, the person showing her his back. She frowned as her hazy awaking memory failed her- who on Earth was this man? What was he doing sleeping next to her in this bizarre place?

Where…where were the sky-high golden walls and towering Anubis statues…

Shaking her head, Evelyn tried to disperse her dream and Nefertiri taking her over. Wow, she had never experienced such intense hatred before… or such evil glee at seeing someone suffer. Her mind was still reveling in the depths of her ancient life, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't manage to conjure up her memories of the present.

_Okay. Okay, just take it easy. He kinda stinks of…blood… maybe he's harmless. _

_Come on, turn him over. It's not like he's gonna eat you._

Her eyes could now distinguish the tattered remains of a once beautiful robe that hung from the man's broad back. Gingerly, she brought her hand up to his shoulder as she sat up… and pushed. He rocked over so that he was facing up.

Eve almost shrieked out.

She had seen that face before… she had definitely seen him before…definitely…

But why was he here? She thought…

**x**

…_I'm sorry… I just can't stand seeing you like this…_

…_please, don't do this! You haven't done anything wrong! This is MY affair! You have nothing to do with it! Please…_

_What are you suggesting? That I _let_ you take over? I'm sorry, my love… I just cannot bear to see you doing these things. _

…_so…we-we fight?_

_So we fight._

**x**

"Evelyn? What is it?"

Shaking the desperate voices from her terrified mind, Eve found herself staring transfixed in some kind of shock at her old friend's face.

Ardeth. _Ardeth_. What was all that about? It all began to sink in once again- he had come with her as a prisoner. Of course.

She quickly brushed away the cold sweat that was dripping down her forehead and attempted to smile, deciding she was think about those unnerving voices a little later on.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Sorry for waking you, everything's fine." She stammered, her heart rate slowing a little from its crazy tirade.

But Ardeth sat up, a hand aiding him as it pushed on the wall, his eyes glinting in the perceptible darkness as he looked at the woman in concern.

"Eve…" he said quietly, his tone becoming urgent all of a sudden, as if he had just realized something. "Listen to me, if anything strange was to happen to you, could you give me your word that you would tell me about it?"

Evelyn was slightly taken aback.

"Well, obviously I would tell you about it. Why the question?" she demanded to know, watching him carefully as he seemed to frown at her face. He brought his hand up to his battered forehead.

"Well…for example, your dreams…if anything out of the ordinary occurs, would you be so kind to share them with me?" Eve almost snorted.

"Oh what, apart from them being the life of some 3000 year old girl protector of the bracelet of Anubis… sure." And then… "Ardeth, what's up with you? You're suddenly all interested by my dreams. You had one or something?"

Ardeth was silent for a whole minute, as if brooding over something in his mind. He sat there on his tattered robe, as if oblivious to her presence.

_Whoa, I wasn't even serious about that! What the hell's going on around here??_

Eve prompted him gently. "Ardeth?..."

Suddenly, the frail wooden door rattled noisily as locks were clanked back, and three guards shoved it open, penetrating the cell along with the harsh morning light.

One of the red-clad guards took the pleasure of driving his boot into Ardeth's side, making the Medji cringe in pain.

"Up you get, ya reeking lump o' filth!" the guard barked, while the other two rather carefully helped Eve up and led her out of the cell. Struggling stubbornly against their grip, Eve shot a frightened glance over her shoulder, calling out to her friend who was trying to get up by himself, his face creased in pain as blood seeped out of his newly ripped wounds.

"C'mon you dope, we don' 'ave all tha bloody day." Sneered the guard, digging the end of his rifle into Ardeth's leg to get him moving.

In burst of movement, Ardeth drew back his elbow swiftly and cracked it straight on the guy's nose, making the man shriek in pain as blood exploded out of his broken nose. The Medji gathered his slightly reinforced strength and snatched the rifle to his chest, aiming it directly at the man's bowed head as the guy yelled in pain.

"THA DAMNED GAY BASTARD BROKE ME FEKIN NOSE GODAMNIT!" he screamed at the other two.  
Not letting their grip on Eve loosen, the two guards wheeled around in surprise and saw the spectacle before their wide eyes.

"Release the girl, or I decorate the floor with his brains," Ardeth growled at them, his tired eyes sparkling with determination. He pointedly ignored the wounded guard shrieking out absurdly about his poor shattered nose.

Instantly the two guards whipped up their rifles and cocked them both in Ardeth's direction, taking no notice of Eve who was trapped in the middle of them all, and who screamed, "No!" as they aimed.

"I don't really think you're in a very good position to be doing that, laddie." One of the guards spat at Ardeth. "You pull that trigger, there'll be brains on the floor _and_ on the wall, mate."

"KILL HIM! HE-ME BLOODY- NOSE-!!" screamed the assaulted guard.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Ardeth yelled at him, and then he yanked the guard up by his hair and put the man infront of him, like a human shield, the gun still cocked at the guard's pissing-blood face, and the Medji's arm locked around the guy's neck. "Release the girl! Release her!"

Eve screamed as one of the guards aimed and shot at Ardeth's head- a bunch of tangled hair fell to the ground as the bullet bounced off the stone wall with a shower of gold sparks. Reflexes sharpened as ever, Ardeth ducked behind his 'shield' and shot skillfully at the guard who had tried to kill him- his bullet skimmed the guy's face as the guard ducked out of the bullet's way in the last second.

"Stop it! Stop it!" Eve cried desperately, struggling to get out of the guards' grips. Just then and there, a crazy rifle-shot battle began, bullets resounding off the stone walls and embedding themselves deep into the poor human shield's body. Eyeing one of the two remaining guard's eyes with interest, Eve stretched out her finger and threw a painful jab straight into the targeted eye. As she had suspected, her victim recoiled in pain, both hands over his eye in pain as he yelled out.

Ardeth took the chance to shoot him clear in the top of his head, the bullet tearing through his skull and leaving a neat little bloody hole.

"Evelyn!" he called for her to pick up the guy's rifle- without waiting for the order, Eve wriggled free of the last guard's flimsy grip and grabbed the dead man's rifle up into her trembling hands. Petrified as two fully armed people aimed at him, the remaining guard tried to get one last aim at Ardeth (his orders were strictly not to harm Evelyn in any way) before getting two blood-seeking pieces of searing hot lead shot straight into both sides of his head. He crumpled to the ground, defeated.

A renewed strength lighting in Ardeth's body, he lunged forwards, stepping over the three dead bodies, and took Eve roughly by the forearm.

"Come on, we must get out of here," he stated breathily as he yanked her out of the cell and into the vast, empty stone-walled basement. There were just a few crates and boxes containing ammunition scattered here and there, and then to their right a frail, dirty wooden staircase leading up to the ground floor.

As Eve instinctively made for the stairs, Ardeth held her back and shot a swift look around him for a back door, or something of the sort- surely someone had heard that mad shootout and would come racing down here. His anxious eyes skimmed along the wall desperately, searching for an exit- please, Allah, grant us some luck here…

There. A door. Ardeth sighed in relief as he tugged Evelyn along with him, taking giant strides over to their salvation and pushing the heavy crates that stood infront of the door out of the way. Eve helped him hurriedly, pushing with her teeth grinding together in effort as the huge crate scraped across the stone floor with difficulty.

Ardeth could hear steps hurrying down the steps- he gave the crate one last, huge shove, clearing it from infront the door.

Two guards scampered down the stairs and to the basement ground, shooting automatically at the escaping couple. Instantly giving Eve a huge push that sent her flying to the floor and out of bullet range, Ardeth rolled to the floor and shot once back at the guards in retaliation. As the two enemies closed on him quickly, he scarpered behind a crate and shot away at them, taking no time to aim as his Medji training had taught him to perfection.

Probably loosing more of his hair thanks to clumsy bullets, Ardeth managed to get both guards down, his stamina a little diminished and his breaths sharp.

Eve was getting up from the place she had been rudely shoved down to as the Medji hurried over to her to help her up, gun clutched to his battered chest.

"Come on, we must hurry!" Eve nodded frantically, shooting for the door and grasping the handle with her petite hand and twisting it frantically.

_CLANK._

Twist, twist, God damn you, twist and open!

_CLANK._

The door stayed shut.

Then suddenly, Eve felt her blood freeze over as a gun's cold, smooth muzzle was pressed against her temple.

"EVE!" Ardeth was tackled by a crazy elbow-back-attack, warning his friend of the danger at the last moment, as at least eight guns were cocked at his face.

Eve couldn't breath. She couldn't move. Her body was paralyzed, her eyes fixed on the door in front of her that refused to open, as the gun muzzle dug into her skin.

Something metallic was jangled playfully by her face, then a slithering, venomous voice slipped coolly into her ear, hot breath teasing her sweating face.

"Seems to me like that's locked, darling."


	8. Proditor

a&n: Urgh, another huge wait. I can't believe how damn lazy I'm being lately. u.u Well, here's number eight, finally- took me bloody forever to write it, so I hope I can make it up to you with this. ;)  
Dedicated to Estora, for being such a supportive reviewer and for finishing Past and Present Collide. Hey, what kind of person would I be if I didn't dedicate things to great authors? Thanks a lot to you other reviewers, too!  
By the way... proditor means enemy. Or nemesis, can't remember. Enjoy!

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter eight  
_Proditor_**

**xxx**

His onyx eyes shimmered with an overflow of hatred as they followed the woman's infuriating pacing. Again, he was kneeling, vulnerable and at her mercy. Again, she wore that snide little smirk on her too-pretty face as she sneered at him.

"Tutt, tutt, tutt, little Medji…" she mocked him, her hands curled neatly on her bare waist as she stopped just in front of him, so she could look down her nose at him like looking at some dog. "I thought you had better tricks up your sleeve than _that_ lousy attempt."

Gritting his teeth, Ardeth tried looking around the room he had been thrown into to ease the boiling blood pounding at his temple. This was undoubtedly the bitch's bedroom- the walls were dark scarlet, matching the colour of the light sheets on the spacious double bed that occupied nearly the whole space. There were various prizes and paintings hung up on the walls, and the air stank off her poison. He willed himself not to look at her irritating smirk.

"Giving me the silent treatment, hmm? Well, you'll have plenty of occasions to do that today. Given the fact you KILLED FIVE OF MY MEN; I think I'll have to come up with an alternative to today's journey for you. What do ya think?" Leeu snarled down at him.

"What are you talking about?" Ardeth growled back at her, refusing to let himself be intimidated. As usual, he was graced with the lovely site of her fat jeweled toes.

Leeu gave an evil snicker, beginning to pace once again, her bare feet padding over the cool wooden floor.

"Oh, but I won't spoil the surprise for you. We're gonna be riding across the desert towards…our final destination. And after that stupid little petty escape, I think I'll rob you of the luxury I was intending to give you…" Leeu stopped smiling as she looked up over his head casually, where the bedroom door stood wide open. Cracking his neck to try and follow her gaze, Ardeth turned to look at the doorway as well.

Two guards were there, guns at hand and fully dressed for combat. With a snarl, Ardeth recognized them- they had been part of the eight guys who had stuffed their gun muzzles rudely in his face. Soon, he vowed, they'd see exactly how he had taken that…

"The camels are fully saddled, and all your men are ready, ma'am." They informed the black viper, not even bothering to shoot a glance down at her battered captive.

"All right. How's the Princess doing?" She demanded almost sarcastically. Ardeth suddenly felt a pang of worry- he hoped they hadn't punished his friend for trying to escape with him. Or rather for having been dragged out of the cell by him.

"Fine. We were wondering what you would like her to wear for the voyage." The guards said tersely, their control betraying their respect for the black lady. "We have all her…_old clothes_ waiting."  
Leeu scoffed. "By all means, dress her in a shirt and thong for all I care! Just make sure you bring her old clothes along. Now get down to the camels- we'll be off soon."

The guards nodded gravely, then as they turned, the black woman suddenly said, "Oh, and be sure you have some rope on you, too."

Eyeing her malicious face, Ardeth felt a dead weight fall into his stomach.

_For some reason I have a very, _very_ bad feeling about this…_

Leeu looked down at him reproachfully.

"Okay, follow me out of here, but if you try anything nasty, I'll make the ride even less _fun _for you, little Medji." She growled at him, then helped him get up by digging her sharp toe rings into his side, and left the room.

Every single little cell in his body seemed to have been whipped twice over with a whip of acid, screaming their protest as he shudderingly got to his feet. _Urgh, I'm gonna have cramps for the rest of my life because of that damned…_ He was really, really starting to despise her, for obvious reasons. If she tried _anything_ on Eve, he swore to the Ancient Gods that she would pay dearly, not that she wouldn't already taste a bit of her own medicine soon.

Hurriedly he followed her out of the room and into a shabby, dark corridor that seemed to have a million doors on its bleak walls, and twisted and coiled for ever, till they came to a dangerously poor staircase that led to a wider hall, with the front door just ahead of them.

As Leeu pulled the door open, Ardeth hid his tired eyes behind his long bangs of dark hair as pure light invaded the place, making blotchy red circles pop up all over his sight.

Not waiting for him to move, Leeu made her way outside, not even having the courtesy to hold the shabby door open for him.

He almost snorted at that thought. Like she would show him any manners- apparently he had "destroyed her entire life and left her with nothing, the bastard!!".

Hmph, drama queen. Unless he had some connection to her in some other life, he couldn't possibly know what he had done that was so bad to her.

_I have to start racking my brains to see how I got caught up in this mess, anyway._

That could wait. First, he needed to know where it was they were going.

He stepped out- and into the glare of the boiling sun, the sheer heat nearly knocking him back inside the house. Looking around himself, he saw that they were in some tiny, poor village, with a few mud-bricked huts sitting comfortably in the burning sand and dogs and camels wandering around between the houses, barking or spitting here and there. Naked little children were running around, shrieking shrilly and waving sticks at each other playfully. A few older children were taking care of baskets of food or buckets of river water, eyeing him curiously as they walked past.

There was very little vegetation, just a few lank yellow weeds waving weakly in the nearly absent, hot breezes. The fruit and fish that Ardeth could see the women carrying to their huts must have come from someplace else. Maybe this village was near the Nile?

One fact completely stumped him- what were they doing here? It seemed like just a few hours ago they were in England- now they were somewhere deep in Egypt. Perhaps Eve and he had been out for longer than they thought, back in that train…

Seeing all the food and water being carried around, waving their fresh green leaves at him or sloshing out of buckets, suddenly reminded him of how ravenously hungry he was. Not to mention his dying thirst- he was used to surviving in the deserts with his nomad tribe, but still, it had been days since he last drank. His stomach growled painfully so as to reinforce his thoughts as he took in those sweet-looking dates and bowls of spices being carried around before him. _Food…food…_

Looking to his right, and still trying to shield his fragile eyes from the sun's scorching assault, Ardeth saw the black woman handing a few pieces of gold and jewellery into an elderly woman's hands. Leeu was speaking a foreign language with apparent ease- modern Egyptian words rolled off her tongue with none of the venom that subsided in her English.

For some reason, she decided to switch to English just for the ironically polite phrase- "I'm sorry for the inconveniences- there might be a few guts in your basement."

Ardeth almost tripped over.

_What does she think she's- !?_

Hoping that the woman hadn't understood, the bloody Medji hurried after his 'host' as she led him around their hut. Standing unceremoniously in the shadow of the mud-bricked house were a least a dozen camels, grunting and flicking their dirty, mangled tails around their saddled flanks. Most of the red-clad men were already sitting proudly on their camel's back, talking grimly or double-checking their equipment.

As he was led over to the stinking animals, Ardeth heard some talking from behind a particular camel.

"_What_!? Are you kidding me!? You mean she's gonna stay like that for the whole friggin journey?"

"Well is it my FAULT if Leeu doesn't own any decent thongs?"

A snort. "Like I want to know what that woman wears under her clothes…"

"Pah! Like you _wouldn't_ want to be the first to find out."

"Shut the hell up! That was so uncalled for!"

"'S not my fault you're a gay bastard. (snicker)"

"Well nothing's your fault is it, you-you- CRETIN!"

If he hadn't been in such a bad situation, Ardeth would've laughed at the absurdity of this supposedly private conversation. The look on Leeu's perfect face was just priceless.

"And could you cretins enlighten me with how Evelyn's _currently_ dressed?" the black lady sneered at the camel in front of the voices, who's snickers were immediately cut short. Two cultist warriors poked their faces from around the camel, who spat disdainfully like it had nothing else to do to enlighten the scene.

"Uhhhm, w-well Evelyn is still in her normal, um, clothes." The most civilized of the guards managed to wheeze out, just as the other kind of started walking away, casually saying something about his camel needing encouragement for the journey…or something like that anyway.

"Fine. I trust you've stuck her with a camel?" Leeu sniffed, going up to the fidgeting camel and uncoiling a rope from its intricate saddle design.

"Of course, ma'am. She's still tightly bound at the hands and ankles." The woman heaved a sigh, flicking the rope almost too fiercely to get it free of its knots.

"Okay, instead of being so damned smart, help me tie _that_ to my saddle. Now." Ardeth scowled as she referred to him in such a superior manner. How he hated feeling defenseless, and completely at these stupid idiots' mercy… Instead of dwelling on his irrelevant thoughts of revenge, the man tried looking around the camels to see if he could find Evelyn- hopefully she wasn't in the same state as yesterday. Surely they would've been tactful enough to at least _wash_ the poor woman?

The guard suddenly forced his attention on him, as the man started tying the rope tightly around Ardeth's raw pink wrists. Suppressing the pain with difficulty, Ardeth tried hard not to resist so as to not bring about complications. The other end of the rope was tied to the camel's saddle in a tight sailor's knot, then with a gurgly moan, the camel got to its lanky knees in order to let Leeu on its back.

Ardeth's eyes widened.

_No. No. They're not going to…?_

Too late for assumptions.

He should've seen this coming…

**xxx**

The boiling sun had blessed the desert's sand of its heated rays, making the little grains of gold shimmer and radiate the impossible heat at a dangerously high temperature.

For plodding camel feet, this was all too familiar, but for scorched bare human feet, simple walking became torture. As the twelve thankfully slow animals trudged ungracefully through the sand, the dark Medji cursed himself a million times for wearing black, and for trying to escape earlier, though it had been instinctive. Hanging his scruffy head to shield himself as best he could from the Sun's intense assault, he was pulled by the ropes by Leeu's insistent camel across the burning sand dunes, his poor feet feeling like they were sliding across a floor of upturn kitchen knives. _Whetted_ kitchen knives.

Every little atom in his body screeched for shade- sweat was trickling down his face and hair in little salty beads, his feet seemed to be grated to the bone with every excruciating step, and they had been walking on for only a few hours.

Wincing relentlessly, the Medji looked up at that hateful black woman's swaying back. The woman was chatting away like some blabbering idiot to Eve, who was riding the camel just next to her, still in her half-ripped nightie.

"Why would I _want_ to tell the likes of _you_ about my visions?" Eve snapped at her as the black lady made a snide request.

"Well, see here, darling. I pretty much own you, so I can make you say anything I damn well please. And any disobedience is kind of inconvenient to your little warrior-for-God _friend_ back there." snarled Leeu as the sun reflected painfully on her golden jewels and into Ardeth's exhausted eyes.

Eve never ceased shooting anxious glances back at the poor man, who was trailing along close behind them in the boiling sand. This was undoubtedly for this morning's little escapade thingy. _I should've told him it would have consequences_… Now he was being dragged along like some vulgar rag doll! Ugh. That woman was just…just…_despicable_.

So Eve reluctantly recounted her visions to her irritable enemy, not in much detail, and for some reason refusing to talk about that strange man at the end of her last vision. Whoever he was, she had never seen him before- just that faint recognition, as always, when facing someone from her old life.

"Hm…and you've never considered actually lifting Nefertiri's soul back from the Afterworld, and into your own body?" Leeu demanded curiously, her pose so damn casual on that bloody camel as she trailed Ardeth behind her without a care in the world.

"No but will you please stop trailing Ardeth like that!" Eve protested, waving off her question with an angry glare.

Leeu laughed. _Laughed_ right in her face.

_Bitch. Bitch!_

"Give me one reason not to, Princess," she snarled. "He killed my men. He destroyed…"

"Destroyed _what,_ exactly? Why the hell are you doing this to him? He never did _anything_ to you!" Eve cried at her enemy, still wearing that death wish in her glare. The black lady's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Pick up the pace, men!" She suddenly ordered to the eleven other men, and in and instant, whips had flicked cruelly down on camels' butts, and the twelve animals had set off into a clumsy, lopsided canter.

Ardeth's jaw dropped.

In the next second, he found himself hurtling forwards into the sea of flaming sand, face down and hands stretched painfully in front of him, his arms almost popping out of their sockets. In a cloud of sand he was dragged along, the dunes scraping at his skin and scorching his face, suffocating him in their heat and as floods of sand clogged his nose and invaded his lungs.

Though he coughed and writhed, the camels' paces just got faster- he was being skinned alive, the already wrecked front of his robe giving away so that he was bare chested against the million shards of ice and flame- acid cracked across his eyeballs in painful whiplashes- his toes being grated till they were but raw exposed flesh- his face _oh Gods my face_ skinned from his skull-

And Leeu was laughing.

_Laughing_. Triumphantly, like some happy little kid.

Eve's blood boiled. Usually she loved camel rides but here it was just wrong. She heard Ardeth's badly suppressed groan of muffled pain from behind-

"Stop! Please stop!" she cried desperately to the sneering woman, who simply snorted.  
"That must be tough on his nipples, poor guy,"

"How can you SAY such things! STOP RIGHT NOW!" Eve yelled her throat raw as the camel she was riding gave a snotty snort and accelerated.

"Why should I listen to you, you ignorant little cow!? I'm only interested in your past life. I see no need in enlightening _you_ with my private life."

"The point IS that pointless torturing is the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! Just because-because your boyfriend died or something- doesn't give you a reason to just vent off your anger on some unknown person!"

Leeu snorted. "Oh, it's not my _boyfriend_ that your little friend murdered. QUICKEN THE PACE, MEN!"

"NO!" Eve yelled at her angrily as the camels surged forwards into an uncomfortable gallop. Up till then Eve didn't even _know_ that camels could go that fast! What she had managed at Hamunaptra seemed petty in comparison.

Ardeth's arms were yanked painfully as jets of flame ran down his exposed skin, gnawing at his body and scathing every sane patch of skin they could find. The Medji tried to wriggle around to be face-up- to no avail. That darned lady knew how to tie secure knots. Damn her! Damn the woman to Hell! Though it seemed _he_ was the one enduring Hell right this minute- he was being skinned like some vulnerable rabbit- his bare upper body burning BURNING whips of fire lashing at his face demons of flame and ice clawing at his chest oh Gods did it hurt—

"STOP, DAMN YOU, STOP IT!" Evelyn yelled angrily at Leeu for the umpteenth time, who was just laughing merrily. And then-

-then, her eyes began to roll-

-her whole body jerked in an odd spasm-

-she faced the flawless azure skies and took in a gurgling breath-

And then she looked upon Leeu with a blazing anger that not even the Sun could match in intensity.

"_I demand you stop at once, traitor! Do you not know your superiors?!"_

Leeu glanced at her captive incredulously, it being the first time in eons that she had heard someone speaking Ancient Egyptian. She gravely realized _who it was_ talking to her in that ancient tongue- but why did the woman hold such importance to Ardeth!?

It mattered not. The Princess would not go unheard- with a flick of the hand, Leeu slowed her camel and ordered her soldiers to slow to a walk.

The black woman was eyeing Evelyn oddly. Or the _body_ of Evelyn oddly. She did not dare pronounce the name out of deep respect. Was that really- a 3000 year old royalty- the Princess damned through the ages- speaking to her? To _her_?

Finally, the honour had come at last. Though she doubted the transformation would last. Leeu bowed her head deeply at her guest, who snorted down her nostrils at her.

Then- with an uncontrollable spasm and an almost 360 degree roll of her eyes, Eve was jerked back to reality. What the hell had just happened? Had the Princess actually _acted through her_? A wave of fear suddenly rippled through her lower body.

'_Do not let her memory become too overpowering'_

…

She had always seen Nefertiri in her visions. Acted as her in her dreams. But never, never had she acted as her in reality.

Fear clawed at her mind again. _Oh God._

"T-thank you," she forced out at her enemy meekly, as she saw Leeu's fluffy bowed head. Hearing the English woman, Leeu snapped her face back up to leer at Evelyn. Such a petty life form should not have been graced with the power of ages! Narrowing her eyes, the black lady looked on.

Glancing back at Ardeth, Eve winced for him as he trailed slowly across the sand, crushed and defeated by the absurdly strong heat. Bravely the man made a shuddering attempt to get to his scorched feet, head hanging and sand-covered, bloody face being blessed by the evil sunlight. The blood had mingled with sweat and sand and had clogged around his wounds, making his face a not very pretty sight indeed.

"Let him ride with me! Please!" Eve suddenly decided, hurling her request at Leeu with determination. "You have to! Look at the bloody state of him! _Please_!"

"I don't bloody _have_ to." Leeu sniffed at her haughtily. "When did you decide you were the one giving orders around here?"

"Oh, so you want me to call on my alter ego again, maybe?" _Bitch. Bitch._

"Hmph." Leeu gave the almost-intimidating woman a glare, "If you really want to hug some stinking filthy wreck like him to you, then fine, I won't deprive you of the _pleasure_." With a yank of the rope, Ardeth was roughly pulled forwards, stumbling like a destabilized doll across the sand. It took all his will power down to the very last speck to not let his feet give away under him- he would not fall at her feet. Either of their feet, for the matter. Silently he blessed Eve for being such a kind hearted woman.

"What are you waiting for, punk? You think I'm actually gonna _help_ you up?" Leeu scoffed at him as he came up to Eve's camel, trailing his exhausted feet behind him. With a furious glare, Eve bent down and grabbed Ardeth's arm to help him up. He climbed up with much difficulty onto the saddle, settling onto the plush saddlebag that was just behind the blessed woman.

"Oh, how very fucking touching." Leeu sneered, her eyes flashing at the sight for some odd reason, then she hurled Ardeth's rope at them and gathered up her ride's reins. "We don't have time for this. Pick up the pace, guys!"

As the camels all slopped into ungraceful canter, Ardeth coiled his raw hands around the thin ropes that secured the saddlebag for balance, before leaning his head forward just a little so his chapped bleeding lips were just by Eve's ear.

"Thank you." His dry voice rumbled from deep with his scorched throat. He could've hurled his arms around her and kissed her to show how much he meant that, but on second thought, he reconsidered it.

Eve smiled in response as she suddenly felt so secure with him safe and sitting just behind her. She just hoped that Leeu's rotten mind wouldn't think up of new horrible ways to torture her dear friend.

**xxx**

As a cold breeze accompanied the growing darkness of the Egyptian sky, and stars came to grant the travelers shimmers of light, a certain black viper could be seen skulking on her camel's back, glinting black eyes glaring at the scene next to her. She looked at the couple sleeping peacefully on the animal just beside herself with a certain spite that no one besides herself could know about. That Medji bastard had made himself nice and comfortable behind his too-kind friend, his head lolling slightly with each of the camel's slow steps. Eve was swaying bizarrely from side to side with each stride, eyes lightly shut and her heart-shaped face bathed in silver moonlight.

A muscle in the sleepless lady's jaw twitched at the sight of the peaceful spectacle. Her eyes a hint too bright, she blinked back her tears fiercely as memories refused to cease invading her mind. That position…ugh, it was so damned familiar…why did they have to remind her, of the times when her departed had taught her to ride when she was young, of all the times when he had taken her on long desert treks with him on his camel, of all the time she had spent with him… and he had taken all of that away. All of it, just for the sake of some stupid 3000 year old story.

_Blissful happiness…and then one sword slash later…all of it just gone…_

_It's so damned unfair. Just so unfair._

Finally tearing her desperately envious gaze from the couple, she focused on the desert sands before her, furiously swiping a lone, sparkling tear from her cheek and piecing her calm self-control back together.

That son of a bitch would pay so, so badly.

_Murderer…_

**xxx**

Still panting, the Princess plopped down onto her wide, spacious bed, the sweet familiar perfume of her room wafting around the warm air. The magnificent golden-rimmed hieroglyphs that were neatly carved in her walls continued to faze her as she chucked back her lengths of raven black, slightly tousled hair, and slid across the netted surface of her bed to get to her dressing table. She couldn't be bothered to call her servants over to help her undress and unpaint her- she was perfectly capable of such things herself. And plus maybe the darned servants were sick of doing every little thing for her- like helping her put on earrings and jewellery and paint her with the simplest patterns- when she could perfectly well do it. She wasn't called Anck-su-Namun, now was she?

Ugh, that woman. Nefertiri viciously jabbed at her kohl rimmed eyes with soaked cloth as she thought of her recent defeat. What was she talking about 'recent'? She had _always_ lost Sais matches to that devilishly swift woman. It had been not an hour ago that the last fight had ended, as usual she had found herself at her enemy's mercy- on her back, weaponless as the other woman kneeled over her with a glinting spear point just a breath away from her throat.

Nefertiri was _sure_ that that annoying little smug woman skipped just those crucial little things that would help the Princess win in their training sessions. _That unfair, loathsome little inexcusable bitch of one of my father's mistresses…_ The young woman furiously yanked the little golden beads from her hair and bit back a yelp of pain as her nail painfully scratched a still-bleeding cut that Anck-su-Namun had inflicted quite happily to her temple. Gods that stung so much! Why did that woman have to be so vicious?

As she felt the warm blood trickle down her face, Nefertiri felt her eyes sting with tears of pain as she reached for her cloth, one jeweled hand trying to staunch the wound.

There was a swift disturbance in the air as something beside her moved- a hand stopped her own as her fingers reached the cloth, and she suddenly felt a warm breath caress her ear as words were murmured to her.

"Allow me…"

With a start, the princess recognized that deep, familiar masculine voice as she turned to see who was sitting just behind her on the wooden bed.

The man's face seemed to have been chiseled by the finesse of Isis herself- his features were nothing short of beautiful, his honey-coloured skin enveloped muscular arms, semi-long black hair brushing his broad shoulders and the same coloured, dark eyes heavy-lidded in adoration as he gazed upon her.

He coiled his graceful fingers around the cloth and very gently dabbed at her wound, taking no notice of her surprise.

"What are _you_ doing her?!" she whispered, almost outraged at his presence. "I thought you didn't attend to that match!"

"Of course I attended to it. I never miss one of them, that I'm sure you know," he told her softly in that deep, seductive tone of his, tracing the rivulet of blood from her temple to her jaw line with the cloth first, and then with the tip of his finger, the feather soft caress making her shudder involuntarily.

"Then you've seen her beating me. All those times," Nefertiri sighed, angry at herself for being so hopeless. There was no way she could ever impress him with a simple win. _Simple isn't the bloody word for it! 'Impossible' is more like it. Let him try beating that sneaky asp woman. _"I wish I wouldn't disappoint you and Father so much."

The man chuckled. "There's no way you disappoint your father. Its just sport- one of his most beloved women winning against the other." He reasoned as he looked at her eyes still shimmering with tears. "And you do everything _but_ disappoint me…" He added as he wiped away the rest of the blood from her beautiful face.

Nefertiri smiled, blinking the last pointless tear from her dark eyes, the lone droplet sliding down her cheek. He had this way about her that she would never understand.

"Tia…" she whispered as he flung the cloth back on the table carelessly. "You know what I told you about Anck-su-Namun and her lover…?"

"Don't let that preoccupy you so much. You've only been talking about them for the past month. Maybe the woman does have some other love life- I honestly don't see how that could possibly harm your father." The man named Tia told her firmly, "The man's Pharaoh- any sort of aggression towards him would be suicide for the assassin. It would be madness to even try."

"I…you're right, but…I keep seeing them exchanging these gazes. You know what sort I'm speaking about. And it's so infuriating- like just now, at the end of the match, dad had his back to them and they took the opportunity to just give each other this passionate look- I hate it so much! It's right under his nose and still they get away with it."

The man cupped her beautiful face in his hands and wiped away that lonesome little tear with a brush of his thumbs. "What would you do if you were an older man's mistress by laws, and I was your illegal lover?" he whispered, half-smiling at her as his face inched closer to hers. She grinned bitterly in response.

"I wouldn't care about something as petty as laws," she told him, lips brushing his as she spoke. His intoxicating masculine scent was starting to cloud her senses, as those dark glinting eyes of his drew her in ever deeper. Bringing her face closer with his hands, the man drew her mouth to his, hands sliding down her silky raven hair then closing around her slender shoulders to pull her closer. He tasted of sweet wine and royal divinity on her tongue as she let her arms slide slowly around him, her gauntlets scraping his smooth skin and her blunt fingertips digging into his back.

He had set everything on hold in her mind as he kissed her tenderly, holding her all to himself. At long last the princess was the one to reluctantly break away, with the excuse of "having to get dressed for tonight's banquet".

"Yes, I heard your father announce your…promotion," smiled Tia as he turned her slightly around, so he could help her take off her Sais garments. "Protector of the sacred Bracelet…do you still think you disappoint people now?"

In a comfortable silence, the princess let her lover rid her of her skimpy battle garments, his fingers brushing softly against the warm skin of her shoulders and breasts- the fiddly top dropped to the floor, followed shortly after by unclasped gauntlets, and then her skirt and heavy golden ankle bracelets. Nefertiri breathed as slowly as humanly possible, barely noticing her own movements as she felt her lover move silently around her, inhaling his toxic scent and beginning to feel slightly giddy in his proximity- the air in the room suddenly increased in temperature till she was sure either of them could breath. Taking as much time as one could when dressing, her lover slid her most beautiful, ceremonious dress that she had prepared, his controlled eyes lingering on the woman's slender body.

_Control, man. Control._

He stopped just as he secured the light dress's back, hands resting warmly on her shoulder blades and face just by the back of hers, his nose nuzzling her silky black waterfall of hair.

"I trust you need no help with putting on your jewellery," he said into her hair, feeling her shudder as his breath teased the back of her neck.

"Well…I could do with some, if you don't mind…" she answered maliciously, her face tilted slightly to the right since she had her back to him as she spoke. She felt him smile.

It had been a while since Ra had begun his journey throughout the Afterworld when the princess made her apparition at the balcony of her bedroom- the small stone ledge overlooked the grand chambers where her father usually made his most important declarations when the Royal family would regroup. The walls scraped the sky, majestic figures of gold standing in modest poses for eternity, and identical statues of cats sat up proudly all around the chamber. The feline animals' glinting glass eyes had witnessed a million great things already- their immobile faces held some kind of hidden knowledge that no one could even dream of acquiring.

Nefertiri sighed as she looked down into the chamber, resting her fully painted arms on the banister- golden sparkles reflecting off of the rich jewellery clasped up and down them. Her lover had taken to briefly painting himself for the ceremony that night- since she decided not to let the mood of the atmosphere drive her mad, the princess thought it best to come out and have some fresh air.

She looked down at the dozens of jet black crouching cats, seeing something glint in those all-knowing, ever-watchful eyes. Frowning, she looked closer. Had that been some hallucination? She could've sworn she had seen-

There. A man painted from bald head to shaved toe in shining gold paint, a humble dark green robe surrounding him modestly.

And there- another! They were flocking around the grand black servants of Bast, their soft bare-footed steps resounding off the hard marble floor. Each took their place between two statues, as if they thought their paint could camouflage them into statues too.

Nefertiri's eyes narrowed. What in the name of Osiri-

And then she saw what preoccupied the Priests so. A woman more beautiful than Isis herself was walking not-so-calmly down the alley of stone guardians, her perfectly curved, tanned body wearing only patterns of inky paint to hide her modesty.

Anck-su-Namun made her way cautiously across the sacred grounds, eyeing the priests oddly as she walked by, feeling their awed eyes on every inch of her exposed body with a certain uncomfort. Her tense steps betrayed her desire to run- though doing so would undoubtedly smudge the telltale paint and bring about suspicions to the Pharaoh.

Nefertiri's blazing noir eyes watched the woman as carefully as a stalking hawk's gaze, flicking her glare time and again to that door where a group of her father's Godly bodyguards were standing behind.

_If you try anything on, you daughter of Set, then I swear…_

The Priests' keen eyes followed the woman deserving to replace the goddess of beauty with envious eyes, before they hurried toward the magnificent, huge golden doors that she had just walked through and took hold of its thick edges.

Nefertiri ignored her lover calling her from back in her room behind her. Her suspicious eyes watched closely as Anck-su-Namun carelessly drew back decorative curtains to enter the rear of the chamber.

The Princess gasped.

_He's there._

_He's there waiting for her…this can't be happening…_

She had had suspicions but that's all they were, suspicions. She had never expected in a million dynasties for them to be _true_. Though here she was, her breathing becoming increasingly rapid as she watched her arch-enemy come to a gradual halt right in front of the High Priest himself.

Too close. _Step away from him! You belong to my father!_

The couple stared at each other intensely for one everlasting second, before Pharaoh's mistress drew up a hand and ran it across the air just in front of the Priest's face, as if she knew she couldn't do the same thing to his face so she did it that way instead.

Imhotep closed his eyes as she -almost- stroked his face, then cupped his hands around her face, though never touching her.

_This is all it's gonna be, isn't it? Some sick miming show?_ Nefertiri hoped desperately as she saw Imhotep's hands lower dangerously close to Anck-su-Namun's painted shoulders.

And then- much to the princess's horror- her thoughts claimed their truth. The High Priest bent over slightly to bring his lips to Anck-su-Namun's in one deep, desperate kiss, his hands landing on her shoulders and caressing thumbs smudging the paint beyond repair.

"Nefertiri?"

The princess didn't answer; she narrowed her eyes sharply as she saw her enemy's real allegiances come into the spotlight. Hate boiled inside her gut as she thought about how her father would react-

-and then-

A deep Egyptian voice broke the heavy silence. "_Yahra ta? Ick ayah?_"

"Nefertiri!"

Her blood ran cold. She watched in pure horror as her father angrily made his way past the quivering golden priests, his leering gaze thankfully unable to pierce the heavy curtains before him as he took long, swift strides towards the concealed couple.

"No!" Nefertiri willed desperately, her lip catching between her gnawing teeth, fingers clenching around the stone of the balcony banister.

Breaking apart, Imhotep and Anck-su-Namun shot worried glances at the curtain, from where they had heard that all-too-familiar voice. And, bad news for them, it sounded pretty angry.

"Pharaoh!" Imhotep warned his love pointlessly, grabbing her smudged shoulders and looking at what he had done in deep regret. It would take a miracle for Pharaoh to not notice those smudges…

"Just go!" Anck-su-Namun whisper-shrieked to him, heart pounding as she pushed her beloved away from her. She quickly scurried up to the single, wise feline statue that stood in the middle of the room, her keen eyes seeing the glint of two crossed golden daggers embedded in the statue's foundation.

Making a grand entrance, Seti angrily ripped apart the curtains and marched straight up to his mistress, seeing her standing almost too innocently next to the statue, trembling fingers fidgeting on the black cat's head as she kept her eyes averted for fear of him seeing her highly strung emotions.

But his old eyes were not all that unseeing. Bringing a furious finger up to point at her shoulder, he bellowed at her, "Who has touched you!?"

Anck-su-Namun looked at her shoulder, then her obsidian gaze shot back up at her to-be husband in mock surprise. He saw her gaze shift slightly to rest upon something behind him. He turned around…

In utter shock, Seti stammered out disbelievingly the name of the traitor he saw standing there. "Imhotep!? My Priest!!"

Nefertiri gasped. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Anck-su-Namun tug one of the daggers out of the stone and draw it slowly up at Seti's back.

Heart pounding desperately in terror, the young princess screeched at her father's bodyguards, his only hope- _her_ only hope-

"MEDJI! My father needs your help!!"

The black clad warriors turned to look at her, before filing out into the chamber, fully armed at the ready.

_Please…_

But as she spun back to her father, her wide eyes took in something that made her heart stop pounding.

With a vicious snarl, Anck-su-Namun's dagger hurtled downwards…

-plunged deep into Seti's exposed back-

-blood spurted out of the wound as his lung was ripped apart-

With a blood curdling shriek of pain, Seti's arms shot out and he tried to look behind him to cast a glance upon his traitorous attacker- _had she no honour, striking at him from behind!!_-

-before Imhotep unsheathed his own, pure gold sword, and made a swift slash into the divine Pharaoh's chest, a plume of blood tainting the High Priest's face.

Nefertiri stared.

And stared.

And _choked_.

_I can't…I can't breath…I can't breath…_

…_this isn't happening! I'm dreaming! I'M DREAMING!_

"NIY!!" she shrieked as she saw the bastards stabbing at her beloved father again, and again, _and again…_ ravaging his already mutilated body with their blades, HER sombre hair flying around her as she made hateful slashes, HIS robes blowing around his sharp stabs like obscure wings…

_I'm dreaming…I'm dreaming…_

The next thing her shattered mind registered was that tears didn't have time to come- she was hurtling over the balcony- her hands pulled her entire body weight over until all she could feel was hot air rushing up all around- _falling-_

"NEFERTIRI!!"

And then, in one swift burning sensation, she felt herself jerk to a halt in mid air as a strong hand clapped around her wrist to stop her falling.

She was…she was hanging in midair…

_Above her father's corpse…_

Looking up, she felt her eyes sting with all the tears one's body would shed in a lifetime, a silent waterfall descending upon her anguished face.

She looked up into her lover's terrorized eyes, as he held her there, him being the sole being that held her between the clutches of Life and what came afterwards…

**x**

…and then Eve's eyes snapped open, as she felt herself dangling vulnerably in the night air, the tips of her feet trailing in the cool sand as her camel marched onward.

A hand was clasped around her wrist.

"WHAT THE SHIT D'YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!?"

She hardly registered Leeu's furious yell as she gazed up in pure shock.

Hazel eyes met obsidian black.

_His_ eyes.

_Ardeth…_


	9. Gladys

a&n: It's time for a little history lesson, me thinks, seeing as you must all be confused about the whole Nefer/Tia business. Here goes;

Reality: Seti I had three children: a son, Rameses II, and two daughters: Henutmire and Tia. Henutmire became Rameses' minor wife, while Tia married a man also named Tia, who was "overseer of the Treasury, Fanbearer on the right of the king". I'm not sure whether Tia and Tia actually ruled between Seti I's time and Ramesses II's time, but ah well.  
Fiction: In Regenesis Seti I had three kids too: Ramesses II, Henutmire, and in Tia's place there is Nefertiri. So instead of there being Tia, there's Nefertiri- Nefertiri married the same guy named Tia, and when Seti I died, Nefertiri&Tia ruled before Rameses became "of age" to rule. Don't know if the dynasties actually worked like that but hey, this is fiction!

There you go, I hope that cleared things up a bit. Concerning this chapter... well, haven't had much experience writing Jonathan, so I hope you won't frown too much while reading him, seeing as he's practically everyone's favourite character. ;)  
(now you can post your first chapter, Estora... -heart-)

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter nine  
_Gladys_**

**xxx**

That all-too-familiar burning Egyptian sun watched over them as they desecrated the peace and quite of the little far-out place with their monstrous modern vehicle. Its churning wheels ripped through the sand, chucking a million sparkling grains back up as the car made its way towards the infamous 'Magic Carpet Co-op.'

Awkward parasols and a few pale-coloured mats and other strange bibblebabbles were strewn out around the gateway that guarded the almost sacred flying machines. A certain young blond boy's keen eyes were checking out the various odd tourists and poor inhabitants that were strolling around or snoozing under some half ripped parasols. He had given up trying to talk reason into his father and uncle's stupid bitchfighting, and his ears were shut to the argument that was still taking place. Something absurd like;

"I SWEAR, my dear _brother_ in law, if you've FUCKED WITH MY LUGGAGE-"

"Ww- how could I possibly!? Is it necessarily MY fault if-?"

"Quit whining, alright chump! Why else would it not be there where I put it? It's not like my son inherited from you- and I sincerely hope he didn't-"

"Now STOP RIGHT THERE! What on Earth do you mean by that!?"

Rolling his eyes, Alex leaned a little heavily over the car door, his gaze caught on a little girl's petite figure who was wandering towards the gate, something clutched in her tiny hands. She was dressed in a murky white dress, her gorgeous locks of long, billowing black hair streaming down her back and curling to a stop nearly at the top of her pole-like legs. Her tanned face was still a little podgy with young age, and her long inky eyelashes shaded sombre black, twinkling eyes. Alex followed her with his gaze as she trotted almost just by their car, the sun's golden rays glinting off of the precious jewel that she seemed to be carrying cautiously.

"Take that BACK you insensitive- RICK BRAA-I-AAKE!!"

In a sudden screech of wheels and a yelp of pain from a certain aggravated American, Jonathan smashed his foot down on Rick's on the brakes just as a few crazy women in nighties jolted past, waving their hands in the air frantically and shrieking their heads off in Arabic. For a second the two relatives just stared at the hopping Arabian weirdos, Rick telling himself that, somehow, some people can be even _more_ demented than his brother-in-law…

Turning at each other again, the two guys just continued looking utterly baffled, but looking at each other instead.

"I-is it just me, or is it rather _crowded_ around here, compared to…" Jonathan started, before being interrupted by Rick who finished his sentence for him;

"…last time we came. Yeah, I was thinking that too." Rick poked his rough elbow over the edge of his car and winced as he flexed his mashed toes, drawing his foot towards the accelerator again.

"But I thought you said Izzy was a shy fellow?" Jonathan inquired, watching closely as the shabby, tall wooden door with sloppish Arabian scribbled in white on its front began to creak open.

"I did!" Rick spluttered as he saw his old, rather cautious natured teammate, come strolling out of the grounds and through the doors, his ammo-belted waist encircled by chocolate-skinned, slender arms, two lovely feminine figures swanning around at his sides. He was smiling cheesily at the gorgeous women, the sun reflecting neatly on his huge silver teeth. Their main conversation seemed to be 'ooh' 'ahahahaha' and…that was pretty much it.

Izzy's stupid pilot hat still flapped its ear-protectors around his face as he strutted coolly up to Rick's immaculate car, his chicks leaning their perfect butts against its boiling pale yellow surface.

"It's my dude Rick!! How've you been, mate!? See here, you won't BELIEVE what through the gates- I given it a comPLETE makeover in the last few weeks, sonny. What calls, eh? More ass-shot business, eh my friend? More money bringing stuff?" Izzy greeted cheerily as his grin widened, casually leaning on Rick's door. The two women…that Jonathan was eyeing pretty eagerly already…were throwing back their jet black hair and cooing at the pilot in an almost sickening manner.

Rick poked at Izzy's shoulder, making the man almost crack his jaw on the windscreen as he stumbled out of balance, then yelled furiously at the two women to 'get their fat asses AWAY from his car!!'. Very much insulted, the two girls shot inquiring looks at Izzy and sauntered off again. Seeing that this seemed rather important, Izzy straightened what rags he was wearing around his well-built chest and waiting as Rick kicked the car door open, muttering things under his breath.

"Was it really necessary to…" Jonathan started rather half-heartedly as he watched the two beautiful women striding past the gates, heads held high in a proud manner, all the while getting his teeny tie stuck in the car door as he fell out of the vehicle.

"Yeah, it was," Rick answered him quite curtly, shooting a sideways glance at Izzy as he said this, like 'what the hell was the whole sex-appeal business about, huh!?' Then, signaling at Izzy and Jonathan to go ahead, he turned to his son and opened the car door for him.

"Hey Alex? C'mon out, son," The man prodded Alex back to reality as the boy tore his gaze away from the little girl, just as she passed through the gates. Rick tried following his son's gaze, but he just missed the peculiar child. "What's with the dreaming? Mum. Kidnappers."

"O-oh, yeah, yeah, coming." Alex mentally shook himself as he hopped out the other side of the car and followed his father into the poor 'Co-operation'.

The two guys marched through the high wooden doors, their squinting eyes meeting a huge market-like area- to Rick, the place looked like it seriously _had_ had a makeover, but not that much, since for some reason he knew that Izzy liked to…treat himself. To Alex, the whole place was new, and his hazel eyes widened as much as one's eyes could when under the assault of a burning sun.

"Wha…pretty neat," the ten year old managed, as he eyed the smart maroon shades looming over desks of papers, wooden stands bearing some fruit scattered here and there for the workers' needs, and a few enclosed squares surrounded by two metre high, thin walls of wood. Rick smirked- _probably bathrooms_- the last time he had been here, the sandy area had been scruffy and as disorganized as any company could possibly be- some guys were sprawled over their shabby, creaking tables, with a million complicated blue-prints and papers as a pillow, or just taking a dip in bathtubs that were just plopped here and there, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He also remembered Jonathan and Eve having a splutter about it once they had boarded the dirigible.

_Damn!_ That familiar deathgrip clenched around his stomach as he thought of his 'missing' wife- once again, he berated himself for letting her come to any sort of danger. How could _anyone_ let a sweet little beautiful lady like her fall into the wrong hands? He should've been more vigilant. Even though he had thought, that night, that all she wanted was to sleep peacefully in the crook of his arms, and any mention of moving from the bed would make her whine with lazy protests. But no, she had decided to go downstairs, just like that, cool, in the middle of the night…

_Yeah. Coincidentally, with _him.

He kicked himself mentally. What was this stupid…this, _jealousy_, this annoying though unstoppable feeling gnawing at his mind whenever he thought of the Medji!? It wasn't like the man had any _chances_ with his wife. Hmph! Like Eve would even take a second glance at him when she already had her husband. Her _wonderful_ husband.

_Her husband that she almost died trying to save._

That warm, bubbling happiness erected from the pit of his stomach. Just the memory of that moment ruled off any other dark thoughts that his worried mind could conjure up. So what if she had met up with the guy in the middle of the night? Jon was with them. He would've reported anything 'unusual' immediately, like the good lad that he was. That Rick hoped he was, anyway.

Father and son turned around the corner that the eroded cliff-face made, to come in full view of Izzy's magnificent dirigible- its enormous patch-work balloon hovered lazily at ground-level as the improved boat grazed the ground with its newly fashioned, solid dark brown wooden form. There was the pilot's little cabin, that hadn't changed, but they had built some kind of little tent in the middle of the boat, making the whole thing look suddenly much smarter. Odd orange flames shot up occasionally to feed the giant balloon, a sign that apparently Izzy was already ready to go.

Rick squinted a little harder as he noticed this. Why was the machine already prepared to go? Already little groups of over excited children were dancing around the legendary machine, singing and shrieking merrily. Adults were bustling around, checking and double-checking some assets of the vehicle, and there were more tents here and there on the sand, probably where the workers slept their nights.

Equally narrowing his eyes, Alex suddenly spotted that little girl once again, surprisingly running towards the great machine, making her way right up the solid roped net that allowed the passengers to climb onboard.

Izzy and Jonathan were a little way ahead, hands occasionally flying as one explained something quite vividly to the other- somehow Rick had quite the hunch on what it was they were discussing (oversized diamonds ring any bells?). He marched on across the sand with his son, who watched closely as Izzy turned to the strange girl's call for help. Smiling widely, the pilot jogged over the young girl and boosted her up the net, tickling her so that she wriggled while giggling sweetly.

"Did we miss out on something here?" Rick inquired as he watched the same thing, reaching Jonathan as all three of them regrouped again in the midst of the yelling waist-high children. "Tell me Izzy doesn't have a…a…well, a _kid_." Jonathan looked quite incredulous as he looked back at Rick.

"And how would I know that? He's the kind of guy who would care more if sex could give birth to great big _diamonds_, so I think not." The man huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as Alex smirked at him. "Are we going or are we not going?"

"Dad, were we gonna save mom with someone else's help?" asked Alex, as the three weaved their way through the whirling circles of kids towards the boarding net.

"I have no idea. Guess we'll just have to go see who wasn't invited." He heaved his son up on the rough rope, and stopped for a second as he added, "But…watch out anyway, 'kay? Can't ever be too careful."

As the trio clambered up and onto the highly refined boat's floor, Izzy invited them in, enticing them towards him with exaggerated arm gestures.

"Come on people, come on! Wanna see the little luxury? Hmm?" the pilot said, an arm swinging towards the tent's entrance flaps. "You can check this out first, then if you want I'll show you the new boost I had fitted. I swear- I'm getting friggin MARRIED with this thing. HAH! Come on, come on down. Oh, and one thing…"

Izzy's eager, shimmering black eyes seemed to linger into space for a second, before he stopped the small family entering the tent with his prodding fingers pushing them back. He eyed them cautiously with that unsure gaze, before Alex couldn't help himself asking-

"What's up with that little girl, Izzy? Why did you let her onboard?"

"Well, that's just the thing, maboy. See, a few days ago, that little sweetface came out of nowhere in the middle of the night- she had crossed _acres_ of deserts just to get here. Man did she look tired, poor thing- like no one's been feeding her nothing for her whole life! The thing was, y'know, she came knocking on my gate, and she was _dragging_ someone. I mean like- I open the door, right- and I see this titchy person holding a bloody wreck of a woman by the wrist! Scared the living crap outta me, I tell ya! Whoo!"

Izzy seemed to be telling his tale with certain lightness, but the whole threesome's expression darkened as they listened intently to his disturbing experience. Seeing his gloomy audience, Izzy cleared his throat and went on, ear flaps slapping his ears in the soft desert breeze.

"Yeah, so then, the little sweetheart's crying and all, and she tells me about this 'incident' thing her mother got caught up in. Didn't catch much of what the heck she was blabbling about, but apparently her mum was part of this cult thing, and she was some kind of double agent, and the cultists were like actually raiding the traitor's houses to kill them! And, well, her mother and her escaped on a horse, that they probably lost along the way, or something- but the guys followed them, and well, turns out that they were especially angry with the mother, so…poor woman. She was still conscious when her daughter dragged her up here, and she was trying to get on her feet and tell her little girl that she was okay, bless'er. Well…that's all I got out of them." Izzy finished somewhat sheepishly, scratching the back of his pilot hat and giving a shrug. "So they wanted me to bring them down to Abu Simbel. Didn't say why. The damn woman didn't even want my nurses to take care of her, stubborn woman. Egh. So…if you wanna talk to her…she's downstairs in there."

Jabbing his thumb at the tent, Izzy finally stepped away from the entrance for the little family to gain entrance.

"Wait just a hot second…" Rick said slowly, rounding on Izzy, "So we, like, tag along with you, is that what you mean?"

"Well if you're heading someplace else than Abu Simbel, I could drop you off there after. Nothing's seriously wrong, come on! …Right?"

Jonathan stepped in angrily. "Oh, right, yes, nothing's wrong at all. Eve's just been kidnapped for some psychotic experiments and Ardeth too for some kind of twisted, evil torture and something tells me it's gonna include SCARABS? So, yeah, everything's just _fabulous_. Absolutely."

It seemed that if someone poked a needle in Izzy's eyes, they would deflate like balloons.

"Wh-wh?"

"No, change of plans- we don't exactly know where to look first. And maybe that woman knows about Eve, so you know what, just take us there and we'll see afterwards." Rick said this as if it closed the whole conversation, turning his back on Izzy as he finished abruptly and stuck his hands between the tent flaps. "Come on, guys. And, uh, Izzy?" He gave Izzy one of his looks, so the pilot hurriedly threw his arms at the operators for them to slice the ropes that held the dirigible to the ground, scurrying inside the tent too.

Inside there were those familiar benches that the party had once sat on discussing Eve, Rick and Alex's compatibility with the intriguing signs of Fate a good 2 years ago. Of course, the old benches had been redone so that they were more secure, and there were even cushions matted on them for comfort. At the rear of the tent there was a little flap that led to the stairs, that then lead up to the pilot's cabin.

When they had picked up Ardeth and Eve from the desert about a month ago, the dirigible had been cleaned up and polished, but they hadn't yet drawn the tent up. Was it really useful, or was it there just to look stylish- Rick couldn't really tell. But one thing he saw was new too- the three of them were standing on a trap door, which could be pulled up with a heavy metal ring that was attached to it.

The three looked at each other.

"I say we go in!" Alex decided.

"Oh, but the cushions look so…plushy…" was Jonathan's decision, but as usual Rick's mind made them all up for them. He stooped and grabbed the ring, tugging the trap door up to reveal a short ladder that lead down to a very tight room, whose floor was entirely covered in maroon and red straw rugs. For obvious reasons of security, there were no torches hanging on the wooden walls or anything for lighting. As the dirigible lurched upwards, the little fire-sputtering exhaust pipes let firelight peep into the room through the cracks in the walls, the dim lighting giving the place a red aura.

Rick descended down into it first, having to bend over to his head wouldn't bang against the low ceiling. It would probably be better to just forget dignity and crawl along, but as he saw what was on the other side of the little room, he decided it would be best to stoop, and look somewhat dignified.

Seeing as the room was little, Rick found that he was standing just a little way away from a woman draped in black and her little girl, both sitting cross-legged on the carpet of straw rugs, facing each other with their hands together since they had been probably talking before he interrupted them, and both had their gazes locked on him.

The woman had long, flowing ebony black hair, that streamed down from her head perfectly straight at first to then curl at the bottom, a little bit like Eve's (when it was well brushed). Two long inky bangs coiled around her honey-coloured, gaunt face, casting darkness over her hidden eyes. As she turned to pierce right through his eyes with her stare, the dim light flickered over her right eye- to Rick's slight surprise, he saw the ugly, bent scar that slashed right up her face from her jaw-line, up her cheek, then right over her right eye, to then come to a jagged stop above her thin eyebrow. Because of this, her right iris was tainted with a peculiar foggy-white colour, giving it an eerie aspect. Her other eye was as black as her hair, twinkling at him curiously. Her skin was riddled with scratches, and haunting shadows stretched beneath her eyes and around her cheekbones, betraying her extreme fatigue.

Jonathan stumbled down the ladder, missed a rung and tripped to come splattering down into the room face first, spoiling the eeriness of the moment.

"AGH! Darned-straw-mat-rope-" He muttered darkly as he massaged his hurting nose, kneeling up. Alex hopped down into the room shortly afterwards, almost tipping right over his uncle.

"Watch it!"

He overbalanced- squished Jon's poor exposed little finger-

"OUCH!!"

"Oh, sorry! _Agh-_ get outta the w-"

And then a deep, exotic voice sliced through the awkward scene as elegant Arabic words tumbled smoothly from the bizarre woman's mouth. It seemed, judging by her tone, that she was…intrigued, by this entrance. Not to mention a little angry. She shifted slightly to position herself in front of her daughter protectively.

Jonathan looked up as he pushed himself clumsily to his feet-

_WHA._

He was nearly knocked back by the woman's sheer aura- she looked every bit like a siren, her loose hair gracefully framing her Elf-like face as she eyed them with her mismatching eyes. He made a strange gurgling noise before clearing his throat and declaring proudly;

"Ah, Arabic! This is my specialty. Yes." He took a confident step forwards.

In a metallic flash, there was a sweet hiss as a blade was swung out from its sheath and suddenly Jonathan found himself standing like a dismembered puppet, with the cool tip of a sword digging against his vulnerable neck.

"Get away!" the woman switched to an English bearing a heavy but quite pretty accent.

Jon groaned at sword-point. _Why do all the women I like aggress me_? He thought to his poor little self. _Is it something about my tie? Or my breath?_

"Who are you? What is your business here?" the woman demanded icily, refusing to remove her blade from a spluttering Jon's neck.

"Listen, lady, we're not here to do you any harm. We just wanted some info about…the guys you worked for. With. Look, just trust us, we're gonna be traveling with you, and I think we might have a few things in common." Rick bartered hastily, and not unlike the woman, placed himself in front of his son. The two children peeked out from behind their parents, Alex looking at the blade with awe glinting in his eyes while the little girl eyed him curiously, her raven hair flopping over her sweet face.

"…a few things in common…?" The woman snarled, still looking at her victim and lifting the sword so Jon had to crack his neck backwards to stop her slicing his neck. "You say you do not take part in the Ancient Egyptian mission?"

Rick's eyes narrowed. "Wha…no, that's what we came to discuss with you. See, my wife has been kidnapped by cultists and…well, how to explain th-"

The woman's eyes suddenly became very round. She withdrew her blade and slid it securely into the sheath that was strapped to her back.

"You are the husband of the Princess." She stated in one breath, and bowed her head quickly. "Forgive me for the aggression. I will talk with you as you wish."

"Wait. WHAT?" Jonathan exclaimed as he fell back onto his butt, looking at the beautiful woman with a wary eye, massaging his neck with his hand delicately. Beautiful women always hide a sword under their clothes. This was a lesson he needed to learn quite urgently…

"Allow me to explain."

They all made themselves comfortable on the mats, the little girl shooting curious looks at Alex as she hid behind her mother timidly.

"I am Gladys, this is my daughter Sierra," the woman introduced them to the O'Connells and the Carnavon, her daughter giving a little whine and retreating behind her as the woman reached for her. "My husband, eldest son and I were part of the 'cultists' you speak of. As you may know, our clan's first mission was to aid the great Bearer of the Hom-Dai curse to slay the Scorpion King. As you may also know, that plan failed quite dismally."

"Yes, yes. That was thanks to-" Jonathan started boasting, finishing his meticulous nail-examination when suddenly Rick's elbow cracked hard against his own, shutting him up.

"Go on," Rick prompted the dark lady, whose hand had absently wandered to her girl's thick locks of raven hair. Watching her closely, Rick started picking up pieces of the puzzle. She was part of the cultists that had raised Imhotep from the grave a second time. Therefore she undoubtedly knew of reincarnations and ancient curses- all the weird mumbo-jumbo that no normal person would even attempt to understand. _She was…no, had been, the enemy_.

"Most of us were killed in the process of this plan. I say 'us', but truthfully I wasn't there. My husband recounted his tale to me. Anyway, for a while the stories of reincarnated entities bearing the power of ages began to cease haunting us. Our leaders had all been slaughtered- Hafez and Meela, who had been the main people who expressed their desire of world domination, and also minor captains like Lock-Nah… Our motivation was running a little low.

"But then, a new leader gathered us all together, or what remained of our clan anyway. She recruited new men, telling us she had researched and found a new plan to victory. And, listening to her tale, we came to trust her completely and began to follow her like blind sheep.

Though not all of us were blind. A small group of us started to see the woman's plan shine in its real light- calling upon a truly horrific entity and playing with its emotions just seemed so wrong. That is how we started to form a rebel group, right under her nose. We blended with the rest of the blind cultists and obeyed to her plans, but in secret we were preparing to strike at her weaknesses to stop her madness from becoming truth.

"She sent our rebel group- quite luckily- to search for a certain Evelyn O'Connell and bring her to our hideout. So we set out as planned, captured the girl quite easily-"

A muscle in Rick's jaw seemed to clench a little too tightly at this point.

"- and we traveled with her, only to stop in the ruins of Karnak. She was the heart of the plan for world domination. She had to be destroyed. So, we put her in an old sarcophagus that was infested with scarabs…"

Jonathan snorted.

"I thought the whole _idea_ of killing someone was to do it quickly. Was it that you couldn't _resist_ getting your cute little scarabs out for her? Eh?" he growled as he cracked his knuckles, starting to think that this woman wasn't all that pretty after all.

She ignored him, swiftly continuing.

"We thought that, without Evelyn, the plan would undoubtedly fail. But some interfering Medji came and rescued her from us, killing a fair few of our men as he made his escape with the woman.

"After the mission, we thought it would be rather risky to try and report back to our leader, seeing as we would have to lie and also explain why we had stopped in Karnak. But some seemed to think it would be even worse for all of us to just leave without saying anything. So we went back to report…

"Of course, as we had feared, our new leader distrusted us completely. She tortured a few of us to get the truth out, and then when we knew she had acknowledged what we had done, we ran. We hid in small Egyptian communities where we thought we could be safe. That's when she started hunting us down…"

At this point little Sierra was whining and groping at her mother's cloak, her little fists getting tangled in the thick material. Gladys softly spoke a few words in that elegant Arabic tongue, running her long fingers through her daughter's black locks.

"Yes, yes. That's all very nice, but you haven't really enlightened us with the _plan_ yet." Jonathan requested as he nodded her on, a very unusual expression of deep concentration written on his otherwise boyish face.

"Yeah what's Eve got to do with your 'truly horrific entity'?" Rick inquired suspiciously, refusing to believe that this had something to do with his wife's alter-ego. There were no records in Egyptian history of another being having endured an ancient curse- there was no reason that his little librarian bore some Ancient terror in her body.

Some kind of hidden emotion resembling pity sprang up in Gladys' nerve racking eyes.

"My friend, Evelyn is the reincarnation of Princess Nefertiri, is she not?" she stated. The baffled threesome just stared at her, mouths open and eyebrows knitting together.

"How the bloody hell do you know about-" Jonathan started, only to be cut off by the all-knowing woman again. Gods was he starting to have real suspicions about that woman. Though she was still painfully pretty and…no! He cared more about his sister's well being than that woman's prettiness! He told himself so, anyway…

"I would've thought the plan to be obvious. The cultists plan to raise her soul from the Underworld to inhabit Evelyn's body. And then, taking advantage of the Princess's suffering in her old life, they will use her to come to world domination. Osiris will grant her the powers she so desperately asked for, and then, she will be invincible. She will course the continents like an evil plague, much like we had planned to wipe out the world with Imhotep, however blunt it may sound." Gladys explained carefully, all the while trying to hush her daughter who was still whining in what seemed like fright.

Jonathan squinted at her disbelievingly.

"Hmph! That's nonsense. Nefertiri is in no way dangerous, I don't know where you weirdos dug that up, but Princesses were never subjected to curses and…things like that! Did you at least check your history, _friend_?" he huffed. Gladys's foggy eye rounded on him, making him flinch unwillingly at the sight. _Egh! _

"Of course princesses were never subjected to such things…_involuntarily_." She said enigmatically.

"Are you saying that Nefertiri _asked_ for someone to put a-a curse on her or something? Pish-bloody-posh!" Rick eyed Jonathan oddly. It seemed the man was point-blank refusing that his sister was inhabited by such a creature as well.

"Question," the married man piped up. "How do they get Nefertiri's soul in my wife's body or whatever, without the Book of the Dead?"

Gladys stared at him for a few seconds. _The poor man doesn't have a clue, does he_?

"I'm sorry," she spoke softly, "but I'm afraid your wife's soul will have to be destroyed for Nefertiri's to take over. We are going to Nefertiri's temple that was built by Abu Simbel for the incantations, so unfortunately there will be no use for the Book."

"Wh-what are you saying?!" both men questioned her, not wanting her to answer that one. Alex decided to block his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as he hid behind his father again. _This isn't happening_. _It can't mean what I think it means…_

"I mean to say; they will kill her. And, without the Book…_permanently_."


	10. Vengeance

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter ten  
_Vengeance_**

**xxx**

The furious woman made her camel almost gallop across the short 1 metre distance that held her apart from the dangling Princess- with a death glare at Ardeth's hunched form, she carelessly groped for Evy's waist and, with a groan of effort, heaved the disorientated girl back onto her camel.

"Now, if you shithead ever try another lame trick like that, I suggest you try thinking of the consequences! Next time I catch you trying anything dirty, I'll personally see to CASTRATING you!! Is that clear!?" Leeu threatened in a low but deadly voice, as if she didn't want to wake her companions, even though her earlier shriek had jolted them all awake.

Ardeth curled his hands tightly around Eve's shoulders protectively to keep her _on_ the camel, and shot an angry glare at the black woman, his eyes practically glowing and lighting up the inky night in a ghostly manner.

"There's no way I would sink to YOUR level and try anything 'dirty', as you so charmingly put it, on an innocent person!" he shot at Leeu, indignant. "It seems you preoccupy yourself more of your fingernails than your current captives- if you hadn't been_ gnawing_ on yourself, you would've noticed your _Princess_ was falling off her camel."

The moon's ghostly reflections in Leeu's eyes suddenly turned very red. For a moment she just sat on her camel, seeming to get broader and broader until the devil didn't even stand up to her intimidation level. Eve felt herself shrink back as the woman's fury emanated from her posture into the very air.

_Ardeth, what the HELL are you doing!?_

"HOW DARE Y- YOU IGNORANT LITTLE TROLLOP! Have you NO idea who you're speaking that disgusting language to!?" Leeu screeched, leaping forwards to swipe at Ardeth's neck, catching the remains of his cloak that hung off his resilient shoulders with her jagged nails and yanking his face towards her, so he was practically hanging in mid air between the two camels.

"Stop it!" Eve demanded desperately, wandering why her friend was so damned proud.

"Since you haven't graced our ears of your actual identity, that I do not know or care about, I'm afraid you'll come to be disappointed by our lack of knowledge. This includes the fact that there is still no POINT to this stupid amateur kidnapping affair." Ardeth spat at her hatefully, his darker than black shimmering eyes seeming to burn with anger.

_Ardeth, what the- shut the hell up! What are you doing!?_

"Amateur kidnapping affair? _Amateur_?" Leeu was laughing, but then she cut her laughter short and set her fierce face back on, glaring at him. "I think it's time to inform your little brainless head of this fact. We are out in the desert, and no one is coming for you. Where would they look? No one else knows where we are, or where we're going. And unfortunately that ugly pillock that they call Evelyn's husband won't even get the entertainment to watch you _die_."

"What are you talking about? We need no help to make you let us go." Ardeth hissed, somehow finding some unholy strength in his battered, muscular arms to tug her fiddly hands away from him and flump back onto the saddle bag.

Fumbling for her stringy, dry-looking camel whip, Leeu let out a short humourless bark of a laugh.

"Don't insult me. It's not like a disgustingly harmless little girl in a nightie and your petty little _Medjai_ skills will save you from me and eleven fully-trained warriors. Please." She sniffed, sliding the whip out of one her saddle's containers.

The way she said 'medjai' in that distasteful, haughty tone somehow struck a cord in Ardeth's fuming brain. He watched her with a frown tugged at his bleeding lips, unconsciously groping for Evelyn's shoulders again to protect her.

"I think it would be wise to revise your past defeats instead of not admitting to them. Am I not correct in saying, last time you tried a pathetically under trained mission to kidnap Evelyn and myself, we escaped rather easily and wiped the whole regiment out?" he snarled, ignoring the feeling of Eve's shoulders cramping up as if she was suddenly got very stressed. Indeed she had to clamp the insides of her cheeks down with her teeth down to the blood to stop herself shrieking 'What the FUCK are you DOING?'

"I think it would be wise not to insult me! Do you really enjoy the sight of your blood!?" Leeu roared, eyes flashing and an evil grin curling her lip up as she swiped the whip up, the broken tip of it slashing across Ardeth's cheek, and her smile widened as the rich wine-coloured little beads of blood splattered over her hand. _Fool_. He was just enticing her into doing what she enjoyed most- drawing blood, HIS blood!

With a shriek, Eve covered her face with her arms and screamed at them to stop as she felt her friend's body jerk back. Leeu leaned in triumphantly with the whip, bringing it down onto Ardeth again, mercilessly- _the fool had asked for it!_-

-when suddenly in an impossible contortion of his ragged arm, the Medjai caught the blood-tainted, scraggly object just before it slashed his skin open again and lashed out his booted foot to wedge it between the folds of the opposing camel's saddle- his teeth gnashing in effort, he strained himself to the side violently, nearly knocking Eve right onto the camel's curvy neck, yanking a very surprised Leeu almost off of her camel. Yelping in annoyed surprise she toppled forwards, looming over the narrow strip of air that separated the two camels.

But the trained woman had sharper reflexes than expected; her widened eyes narrowing in concentration she tightened her adamant grip on the whip (even though her hand was being painfully crushed by Ardeth's deathgrip) and swung up one leg- her foot smacked right into Ardeth's face, viciously pressing against his just-ripped wound. Ardeth groaned in pain, teeth grinding together, still trying to yank the darned woman clean off her camel with the whip all the while being dangerously destabilized by her jeweled foot on his face. They struggled for a while in that awkward situation, until Leeu kicked his head back and yanked her semi-automatic rifle from her saddle and began to raise it up to Ardeth's face- but he saw what she was doing and, twisting his grip on the whip, he grabbed hold of the woman's hand and squeezed it till he was sure he had blocked all circulation, so that her fingers went numb on the trigger and she wasn't capable of raising it any higher.

It was only then that Eve dared to peek between her fingers. Her trembling face eyed in mute shock the dozen gun muzzles that were all cocked at the back of the Med-jai's face.

"Gg- uh, Ardeth…" she squeaked, incapable of doing anything except watch the scene happen in milliseconds before her eyes.

Leeu's horrid _amused_ glare seemed to lighten as she pierced straight through Ardeth's eyes.

"Heh. I think we should stop holding hands now. Hm?" she mocked, her arms barely shaking under the pressure of his hold.

Eve was disgusted with herself. Now she registered his quick plan- only now was the time that she saw the point, and that she had completely missed it. _He was provoking her! Come on, that's like the most obvious trick in the book! I'm so STUPID!_

She looked at the two shaking weapons, kicking herself hard as she realized she could've helped him yank the bitch from her camel.

_I'm so stupid! Stupid!_

"If you do not want to get riddled with hot lead, I suggest you let go of the woman," spoke a deep-voiced cultist that sat on the camel that was walking to the right of Ardeth's, his glimmering eyes peeking menacingly over his red scarf, "and get back into your earlier position."

Ardeth looked at him questioningly, refusing to let go of Leeu's hands. His grip was loosening by mere fatigue, not because he was giving up.

"Hop back down to the sand, pretty-boy," Leeu told him in a sing song voice. "If you don't mind me saying I'd rather not have you stinking and bleeding all over me."

Eve's eyes widened.

"No!" she gasped, her voice rasping in her dry throat as her bewildered gaze bounced from man to man. "Please! I'll go down instead! Please!"

Leeu laughed straight in her flushed face.

"Now now, I don't think Nefertiri would be very pleased if you grated her new feet over the sand, now would she." She snarled, and then violently twisted her arms, taking advantage of Ardeth's surprise to yank him clear off his camel.

"Ardeth!" Eve yelled after him as he fell face forward into the sand, his neck cracking horribly on contact with the dune. He rolled for a while helplessly between the strolling camel's stinky feet, his luck making him unconsciously swerve away from being crushed dozens of times. Hopelessly, she watched him with an arm stretched out as if she wanted to haul him back up, though she was way up here and he was way down there.

The camels were just plodding on, unaware as they crushed his arms and legs with their flat feet, just chewing on their spit as they marched onward. Eve shot her face back up at Leeu's satisfied frame, who was just swaying away without a care in the world on her disgraceful animal. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to find the right words to roar at her, before glancing back worriedly at her friend, who was a little way away now, sprawled out in the sand, an inky black stain in the endless stretches of shadowy, majestic dunes. Still not completely robbed of his honour, he tried to get to his knees, head bowed and arms sinking difficultly into the soft ground around him as he heaved himself up.

"Either he stays back there and becomes vulture crap, or he gets himself together, follows us and finally gets the POINT." Leeu sniffed haughtily, a smile tugging at her triumphant face. Eve's eyes narrowed to thin, glinting slits, hatefully wishing for the 200 Egyptian Gods to smite this woman. SMITE HER, damn you!

"Evil, ignorant little trollops of cultists like yourself always get their comeuppances, anyway." She hissed, not wanting to seem weak, though she couldn't stop the slight tremor from ringing in her voice as she glared hatefully at the woman.

Leeu was still looking at her, though not like she was annoyed- a hint of amusement seemed to glow in her eyes.

"Oh really?" she told Eve, her shoulders quivering before she burst out laughing, seeming to think her captive was hilarious. "You know, I don't think so. I sincerely don't. Unluckily for you…"

They had been walking for the whole of the next day. To gain time they sometimes pushed their mounts into a harsh gallop for stretches of half-hours at the most, and unfortunately for their 'guest' that was tagging along behind them, he had to run after them, though he now resembled something close to the rags that remained of an old doll. For the first time Eve began to beg her alter ego to take her over again and order that wretched woman to allow Ardeth to ride- the Princess was the only person that damned woman would listen to anyway.

When the night marched over the skies and proclaimed Her dark domination, the group decided to stop in a random crevice between two dunes and rest for the night. They pitched up two modestly-sized tents- one for Leeu and a few of her men, and the other for their two 'guests' and the rest of the red-clad followers.

The four guys that were going to share Eve's tent helped her untie her sleeping bag from her camel's back and they settled into their tent, some of them making small-talk with the petrified girl. She eyed them warily like a mouse surrounded by eerily friendly felines, flinching when one of them let out barks of laughter. Smoothing out her sleeping bag and trying to ease her senses, she couldn't help overhearing something from two whispering men next to her that made her blood run as cold as the frost on mountains' peaks.

She kept wondering where Ardeth was. How was he, in his situation? In the past hour when they had been riding, he had been left behind after a long period of camel-canter, and she hadn't had the relief to see him, let alone seeing him up and walking. Maybe he'd collapsed into the sand and couldn't get up again? Seeing as the desert was impossibly hot under the daylight's scorching sun, and could freeze over night, she was sure he wouldn't be able to survive it, given his poor state.

"What's up, Princess? Calm down, you can trust us. We won't…try anything." One of the guys tried to soothe her, watching her as she continuously smoothed back the same tiny fold in her sleeping bag. She whipped her head around to look him up and down, her face white with worry, then she got to her feet and ducked out of the tent.

The Egyptian night sky twinkled down at her, a chilly desert breeze teasing at her ripped nightie and sending it briskly upwards, one side of it hugging Eve's slender form.

She walked up to where the camels were nestled together, and noticed a certain black viper standing in the midst of the fluffy group, hands on her hips and eyes looking out to the dunes they had just galloped over.

Eve surprised herself by walking over to the woman, stopping a little way behind her to absently stroke a random camel's silky muzzle. The stupid animal gurgled somewhat cutely in response, unconsciously alerting Leeu of Eve's presence.

"Hope the bastard hasn't lost his damn self out there…" the black warrior muttered hatefully under her breath, the golden jewellery hanging off her sword sheath clinking in the soft breeze.

"Why would you care? You just need him to…to torture him, and laugh at him." Eve snapped at her, folding her arms and ignoring the camel that butted his fat head against her back with a grunt.

Leeu let out a snort.

"Oh yeah? Well I guess if I asked you, you wouldn't tell me why you need him. So I see no need in telling you why I do." She reasoned. Indignant, Eve shifted uncomfortably in the sand and opened her mouth to snap something back. Shutting it again, she revised her words.

"Oh, I guess you're gonna bribe me into telling you about my private life in order to learn yours. That's just great. Perfect." She sighed when she couldn't find anything that didn't sound too suspicious to say about her old friend. There was still that- that thing, that idea, that he might just be…that he might just be that man… she shook her head, trying to ease her bewildered heart beats. That was just…no. It was a coincidence. It had to be.

There was a little silence, before Eve spoke up again.  
"There's no deep, secret hidden meaning as to why I like knowing one of my best friends isn't being whipped, or shot at, or being dragged through boiling hot sand. It's called AFFECTION, though I doubt you know anything about that." She spat at Leeu, then in her annoyance she yelled, "Stop it, you meathead!" to the camel that was still butting her back. The poor animal eyed her in a hurt way and shied away to the rest of the furry group.

Leeu was surprisingly silent for a while, still looking outwards.

"You've never had anyone close get murdered, have you?" she asked almost quietly to her captive, her eyes seeming to get lost in her trance-like expression. Confused, Eve cocked her head slightly.

"Yeah, you've never waited two years in the darkness for news of one you love, and then when the news comes, they're stating that this person has been killed. Killed for something that he got himself wrapped up in by mistake." The woman continued, regained her previous, snappy composure. Eve waited, heart pounding, realizing that if she gave the woman a little time she could just drag out the point to this mission. She actually could! So, she wasn't completely useless. She frowned as she thought of the previous night, waiting calmly for Leeu to talk again.

Much to her disappointment, Leeu didn't say anything. The heavy silence endured.  
"This hasn't got anything to do with 3000 year old stories, has it? You're not gonna say you're some reincarnated concubine and your lover was killed, or anything?" she found herself impatiently wanting to know, before she could bite her tongue. Leeu let out a bitter laugh.

"What gave you that _smart_ idea?" she mocked, "You're the only one around here who has a positively 'adorable' alter ego. And you're probably the only one around here who has an IQ equal to the camel's ones. Gawd." Before a narrowed-eyed Eve could retort anything, Leeu's tirade continued. "Besides, I would kill myself before getting involved with some bastard of an alter ego. You know about Meela and that damned whore Imhotep, right? That's right, of course you do; you're the one who killed their sorry asses. They're the reason my old man got slain like some worthless pig. He was part of their stupid cultist group, the one that that fat idiot Hafez was leading, and after the whole massacre affair, some of the lucky bastards that hauled their asses out of it came to my doorstep to tell me my dad was dead, by the hands of that-that-" She hung her head, teeth grinding in fury and squeezed her eyes against her shameful tears. "There's no fucking word for him, your little Medjai friend. And if he doesn't show his traitorous ass in the next twenty seconds I'm gonna ride out and shoot his brains out. Let him rot under the sun for what he did."

Eve was shaken. She looked at the imposing woman wide-eyed, wondering whether she should warm up to her or just try to escape even harder. _The woman was doing this for vengeance. She was doing this for the sake of a lost loved one. _It made sense, she supposed- though she doubted she would do such a thing to the man who would murder Jonathan. No doubt she would be tempted, she felt her heart give an anxious tug at the mere thought of it (brothers didn't die in her world), but she would never bring herself about to doing it. She guessed Leeu was a very brave, proud woman, which made a deadly combination if added to anger and vengeance-seeking.

Looking out to the dunes again, she suddenly felt her whole body jerk uncontrollably-her eyes revolved over themselves- her mouth hung open and sucked in dry air as her lungs seemed to crumple up-

And then as she looked upon the desert again, the high dune loomed over her, sparkling in all its splendor under the burning midday sun, individual little golden grains of sand glinting up at her like a sea of golden diamonds. A man dressed in an open, royal black robe and a long loincloth was walking down from the very top of the dune towards her, his long raven hair billowing around his handsome face as black eyes shimmered down at her. A royal scabbard was hooked at his waist, a scimitar's shining handle poking out of its extremity. She could see a jet black stallion standing a little way behind him, reins still hanging around its neck like he had just dismounted. His face was set in a determined expression, his gaze full of…melancholia.

With another uncontrollable spasm, Eve was almost knocked out cold as her gaze withdrew from the Princess's memory and was plunged back into her own time. She looked out at the dune before her-

Her jaw nearly hit her toes. A black shadow was slowly making its way down the dune, his slow, almost reluctant steps completely identical to the Egyptian man she had just recalled. Her chest heaved with every shaking breath she took as her mind slowly worked through logic. _This can't be! He's not Tia! He- that's just not possible!_ Ardeth himself had told her that Rick had been destined to protect her. That he had been an ancient Warrior for God, in the old times. Yes, maybe the man was Rick's old self. She just hadn't observed his face long enough, getting tricked by the long black hair. Maybe a Rick with long black hair and a goatee came to look like Tia??

"Ah, THERE'S the damned guy. Princess, you should get back to your tent. Get some rest." Leeu snapped, ordering Eve like she didn't like being polite about it.

"I'm going. Just-just promise you won't…punish him. Please." Evelyn said shakily, only too grateful to be able to turn away from that man and all the complications he brought with him. _I told you. He's not Tia._ Complications weren't needed if that was the case.

Leeu didn't even bother answering that one.

Evelyn had just settled in the dark of the tent, snuggled under her sleeping bag, when the tent flaps rustled and she heard footsteps in the obscurity.

**x**

"Oi! 'Oo goe'z there?" muttered a half-asleep guard, and the intruder spoke in a broken rasp of a once deep, masculine voice.

"The captive you prize the most," he said ironically, and recognizing his voice Eve let out a yelp of relief and called out to him.

"H-hey, over here."

She felt him ease down onto the part of the sleeping bag that dipped over her stomach and lay over the sand.

"Oh god Ardeth, are you all right? No, stupid question. You want some water? I've got everything here, some food…I'll give you my sleeping bag if you want-" she breathed in a rush, groping for her water bottle and sitting up.

"Ev-" He interrupted, before a tearing cough ripped through his chest and rang through the chilly air, shaking them both. "I'm as fine as our current situation will let me be. Water would be much appreciated, but you should take care of yourself first."

"Oh Ardeth, can't you ever be self-conscious sometimes?" Eve snapped in a very mother-like tone. "You've just been dragged for two whole days across a boiling hot desert with nothing but your feet, and your bleeding everywhere, and you've probably got, like, double pneumonia or something and-and then you tell me I need to take care of myself, when they're practically treating me like who I was before! Don't be stupid! Come here so I can get some water into your system. And don't move, you've got as much cuts as you have bones, and they'll just rip open even more and you'll bleed to death before you know it. How're your bones, while we're at it? None of them cracked or anything?" She found her cool water bottle and squinted in the dark, making out his hunched form sitting on the side of her sleeping bag.

Hearing her, Ardeth decided it would be pretty much useless to try and dissuade her that he was hurt. Still, he wasn't just going to admit that every single articulation screamed in fiery protest each time he moved, that his very skin burned off its own accord, that his feet were raw, his toes grated to the bone, that his nipples had probably carbonized and dropped right off, and that his heaving lungs seemed to be rotting and full of clots of his own boiling blood. There was no point in worrying the fretful woman even more. Water would be just fine.

"Just…" 'if you would be so kind as to lend me water' was what he intended to say, but with his cheese-grate-like throat he guessed he would have to stick to Rick-like language. _Hmph_. "Water, please."

She handed him the bottle, and he splashed some on his face, shivering in delight as the cool rivulets trickled deliciously down his scorched skin and along his closed eyes, trailing between his cracked lips and down his chin. He took a swig of the bottle and savoured the coolness that seeped down his body, quenching his screeching thirst at last.

"Um…Ardeth…" Eve started, when she decided she didn't have anything to fret about any more- except one thing. "Erm, you know, when I fell off the camel…"

He was silent for a full minute, the metal handle clanking noisily as he lowered the bottle, and just stared off into the dark, his eyes shimmering glints in the sombre atmosphere. She was suddenly very aware of how battered and worn out he seemed- his chest heaved and his back was hunched, the shadows that stretched over his face seemed daunting, and his loose grip was shaking slightly on the bottle.

"Yes." He stated in a rumble from deep within his raw throat, waiting for her to go on.

"You know, well, that I had this vision."

"Yes."

"Well…there was this, this man…" She swallowed with difficulty, anticipating his reaction as she wrung her hands together. Then suddenly she let out a nervous laugh, digging her feet into the sleeping bag folds. "Oh, and you probably don't care! I should leave you alone to rest, after what you've been through. I-it's not important, it was just a dream. After all my dreams are just- not worth- well, you need rest and I won't-" _Get you worried with that._ "-I won't bore you with that."

Ardeth expelled a rough sigh, and she heard its struggle to escape his constricted throat, wincing absently for him. "I told you t-" Doubling over, he launched into a horrible spasm of ragged coughs, seeming to spit out his lungs as the powerful coughs seemed to rattle the very pit of his chest. Being the caring woman she had blossomed into, Eve let out an anxious 'ooh' and straightened him with an arm wriggled around his and offered him the water again.

"Honestly, I'm so horrid. I know you can't talk, and I still make you. God, I'm sorry! You should rest, Ardeth, it can wait till you're feeling better." She insisted in a rushed whisper, helping him to a long swig of the water bottle.

"I thought I told you to tell me whenever anything worries you about your visions," he rasped, recovering shakily and wiping the trickles of water that ran down his beard with the back of a trembling hand. He felt somewhat humiliated, obliged to show himself as such a weak person in front of someone he desperately wanted to keep from harm. This whole mission smelt like something nasty, and he wanted to be sure he could protect her from anything till the very end. It must've been a little disconcerting for her to see her only ally in such a pitiful state. _Curse you, Leeu._ _Curse you!_

Evelyn was preoccupying herself with straightening him up, stuffing the bottle away noisily and keeping her face hidden from him in the dark.

"Eve."

Snapping her head back to him, she looked a little hesitant.

"Oh…are you sure…?"

"Yes." That closed the discussion. Either she spat it out, or he spat his _lungs_ out trying to persuade her to. Eve sighed, fiddling with the hem of her sleeping bag nervously.

"Well…you know about that vision I had, back on the dirigible two years ago? I had the…the exact same one, except I wasn't in-in Anck-su-Namun's point of view. I was in Nefertiri's this time. And, like I said there was this, this guy I don't know…well that I did know then, obviously, and he came into my room after the Sais fight…" A little breath, accompanied by a hesitating glance at Ardeth's reaction. He wasn't looking at her as she spoke, instead he listened intently, his eyes fixated on the sandy floor. "And, well how to say this, uuuh…Nefertiri and him are, um, close. _Very_ close."

"I see." Again, Ardeth seemed strangely distant.

"He…well, we got dressed for the banquet that was in a few hours' time." Looking down, Eve blessed the darkness for concealing her cherry-red blush that spread over her cheeks like a sudden blossom. She hoped Ardeth was still so fascinated by the floor. "And, I went through the whole watching my father get killed thing again. With Imhotep, Anck-su-Namun, the Medjai…god, I felt horrible. I think I understand what suicidal people feel like now. It was much more… pronounced… than last time. Oh God, she loved her father so much, Ardeth. It was terrible. Nefertiri had had suspicions practically all her life, and-and there was the proof, in its disgusting, blood-stained nakedness. Oh, God." Eve was shaking her hands about, trying to make out her words with gestures, though she could feel some kind of intense sadness threaten to overwhelm her as she recalled such burning sensations. She scolded herself with a tutt as she felt the backs of her eyes prickling bitterly, wondering why she was crying over something she hadn't even lived through.

In her worry, she hadn't noticed Ardeth observing her in the corner of his dark eyes. His jaw was set in a tight line, his breathing surprisingly robbed of its usual rasp.

"So, I was on that balcony. Right. And I chucked myself…what am I saying, Nefertiri chucked herself over the edge of the balcony, and he…"

"He caught you?" Ardeth inquired softly, watching her trembling hands fidget with a tightly drawn strand of chocolate-coloured hair.

"He did. He did exactly that," she confirmed, wagging an approving finger at him like the old librarian she had been, "And the worst was, well, at that moment she looked up at him. And I woke up, and…and I was looking…oh, God." She looked up at him pleadingly, as if she was willing him to tell her to stop. To her surprise he swerved his gaze away just as she was about to meet it. "I was looking at you, Ardeth." She whispered, almost inaudibly. Her temple pounded crazily with blood as she watched him warily, praying for him to say it was just coincidence. There was an awkward silence as she tried to catch his eye, and he tried to keep his gaze averted, though it seemed to prove difficult.

"I…I awoke to the sound of you screaming. You were hurling yourself off the camel when I caught you." He turned to her fully, tucking his ruined legs away under him. "You need not worry. If you were going to ask whether or not I shared your vision as one of the present men, I can assure you no. No." He insisted, shaking his head with his neck cracking painfully as he did so. Eve still looked unconvinced, watching him with squinty eyes.

"There's something else. You know sometimes, like with Meela, I have flashbacks when I see someone? Well, just now I saw someone walking down that dune just as you did. It…it was him. It was Tia." She stammered, wringing her hands again. Ardeth managed to rip his lips open and stretch them into a reassuring smile.

"Your subconsciousness must have been begging for Rick's presence. Maybe the man is a reincarnation of that Tia, and you saw Rick's alter ego. I have told you before… the three of you embody the three sides of the Ancient pyramid. A reincarnated Princess…"

"…a Warrior for God, and a way to Ahm Shere, yes, yes, I remember that. Sorry, I've just kinda been out of my mind lately…" Eve gave a nervous giggle, easing down on the mushy material.

"Understandable," Ardeth stated, seeming oddly as relieved as she was.

"Mistaking you for the reincarnation of some ancient lover. I'm so sorry, it's not like I wanted to put pressure on you or anything." Evelyn stuttered, sighing as she let her head sink back into the soft material and closing her eyes lightly. What was this flutter that never ceased teasing her heart? She trusted her friend completely, especially as he was her only shining light in this obscure situation. Why would he lie about something like this? Only for her to find out later and get mad at him? It wasn't like him to do such things.

_But then…who is Tia? _

_Ah, well. Do I need to know? I have Rick. That's as much as anyone could dream of asking for._

Finally finding a bit of bliss, she smiled herself to sleep.

**xxx**

The corridors were dark as the Underworld at this late hour. Torches of flame burned relentlessly at the endless carved walls, licking at the suffocating air with their blood-coloured flickering tongues. Long shadows stretched ominously across the papyrus-coloured floors, engulfing the grounds with their greedy black arms and seeking domination over the sole, desperate sources of lasting light. Eyes of darkness guarded the halls from their high positions on the golden walls, frozen gestures displaying proudly on their floorless domains.

Out of the obscurity, a dark, golden cloak swished dauntingly, catching around the smooth corners of the corridors, its hem gliding gracefully on the air after the owner's silent footsteps. In one swift stroke of the magnificent, royal robe, a gust of warm wind whistled through the halls, the last dying torches being defeated at last, their feeble flames flickering out. One flick of the cloak's hem, and all light around it died.

The dark cloak bearer continued on his hasty march, an elegant torch held out defensively in front of him, cold light washing around it and bathing the walls of its invading coolness. The figure took long strides towards the royal chambers, feet scurrying soundlessly up a positively massive stairway, the hem of the royal cloak embracing each step like a golden cascade.

The great prince Rameses II was sleeping soundly, his teenage body sprawled over his bed, the white robe he was wearing hugging his legs and spread out like a pure aura around him. It was the rumbling growl of his pet lioness, who he willingly insisted upon sleeping with, that drew him forcefully back to the land of the living. Opening his stuffy eyes, the kohl prickling him as he realized he had forgotten to take it off again, he stared right into the fluffy honey-coloured fur of his adored feline friend, whose head was upright, glaring icily at the intruder who stood at the doorway.

"Daela, my love. Hush now, don't get upset…" he whispered to her, scratching her behind her fluffy ears before squinting up to the darkness of the doorway. A figure was there, draped in a magnificent golden cloak with rich clasps, an intricately designed torch held at chest-height to intrude the peaceful obscurity.

"Who…?" Rameses trailed off, heaving himself to a sitting position and sliding over to the edge of his bed to get a better view of the stranger. A pair of blazing obsidian eyes stared back at him, a certain iciness biting at their usually tender gaze. He took in a beautiful heart-shaped face, the torch's light reflecting on a hundred glistening tear-stains that streamed down her cheeks. Her soft lips were set in a thin line, her chin tucked in as she looked at him almost passively.

"Mourn with me, brother." She murmured gently, dark raven strands of silky hair falling over her face to veil her sorrow. "Our great father has been slain."

"What? Nefertiri, what is that you speak of?" the young prince stammered after a full minute of trying to take in what his sister was saying.

"His corpse lies in the grand chambers of Isis. Long gashes mutilate his chest and back. They say they could not open his eyes, because so much blood had been pumped into them that they had become black, and they bulge with dishonour." Nefertiri stated in a dead voice, before her brother leapt up at her and gathered her into his arms, hushing her desperately and squeezing her against him.

The torch fell to the floor, spraying bits of flame covered essence on the cool floor.

"What are you saying, sister?" Rameses choked, her hood dropping to her shoulders so he could stroke her ebony hair with a trembling hand. Her arms hung limply at her sides, dry eyes fixed on the ceiling and tear stains glinting orange in the torch light.

"Traitors dared to mock the Gods right before our great father's eyes," she whispered. "They dared unsheathe their weapons and plunge steel into sacred blood. _They have no honour._"

"Hush, sister!" pleaded the young boy, squeezing her to him as he closed his eyes, tears trickling across his long eyelashes and onto her delicate neck.

"Rameses," Nefertiri murmured, her voice harsh and her eyes deprived of tears that she had wept in the helpless arms of her beloved. She had cried away all the tears of her body and soul- there was nothing left. Nothing. "You have to help me announce my succession to the throne, my love. You have to help me announce…_his death_."

"We cannot..." the prince wept bitterly, burying his face in her lengths of soft black hair. "Tell me who, my sister…who are the in-bred, disloyal jackals that did this? Who dared commit this madness?" Nefertiri sucked in a dry breath, a muscle twitching in her jaw.

"Pharaoh's mistress," she breathed, not at all surprised when Rameses' arms dropped from her sides in disbelief, meeting his incredulous, tear-veiled gaze. "And the High Priest, Imhotep."

"The two persons our father held in the highest regards…" Rameses scowled angrily, eyes set ablaze as he looked aside and curled his fingers into fists, shaking uncontrollably. Nefertiri watched him steadily through her passive, obsidian eyes.

"Rameses, my love." She called softly, closing her eyes against the scorching fury that threatened to curse her soul. "What are we to do?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Rameses dragged his gaze back to his sister's and grasped her cloaked shoulders, jaw set in a firm line.

"Is the world of the living still bearing their sacrilegious presence, sister?"

"Only one," she told him, "Anck-su-Namun gave herself to Anubis right after father's Medjai surprised them. It was a diversion, Imhotep got away as she guarded him with her own life. I set the Medjai on his trail, they are to alert us as soon as they find him." Rameses nodded in approval, wiping away his tears furiously.

"Tell me, Nefertiri. Does Henutmire know of this?" Nefertiri's glare intensified so much that even the fires of Hell could not burn as strongly as her hateful eyes.

"Her! That traitorous girl does not deserve to sit in golden halls. She never loved Father, and either of us, surely you know of that. The little pauper has always been in league with Anck-su-Namun. She has no right to bear the title of Seti's daughter." She spat venomously, stepping slowly into Rameses' room.

"Sister," Rameses II said softly in his elegant tongue. "Would you let our beloved Father's death go unavenged?" Her dark gaze whipped up to stare at him.

"I would not," she breathed dangerously.

"Then brave the Gods' will, my love. Curse the laws of Time and see to the traitorous bloodlines, make sure that this land isn't tainted with their unworthy descendants. Let us dishonour their family with ungraceful slaughter, just as they…" He stepped close to her, "..dishonour.." He leaned in to her slowly, ".._us_." Gently, he placed a tear-stained kiss on her mouth, stroking her powdery cheek with his thumb.

Gulping back her fury, Nefertiri challenged his stare with her fuming glare, wanting desperately to make him believe.

"I vow to you, I will carry it out. Down to the last," she whispered ominously, glazing him with her cold-as-steel eyes. He nodded his silent approval.

And then, there was a shuffle at the doorway as another stranger made his discreet entrance. Whirling around, Nefertiri placed her deadly gaze upon this new person- he was none other but the leader of Pharaoh's sacred bodyguards, a crooked scimitar hanging at his side and sweat glistening on his muscular, black arms.

"My Lady, my Prince, we have found him. He and his infamous 'priests' await in the embalmment chambers, and their Fates depend on your decision, Princess," The respectful man bowed his head as soon as she looked upon him, waiting for her to direct him.

A cold smirk played on her white lips.

"Lead me to them." She commanded, picking up the torch and throwing a look back at her brother who was enveloped in shadow, his eyes glowing like a ghost back at her.

**x**

He opened his heavy eyelids, not registering the sound of a million whips lashing down on his faithful priests' backs all around him. His fists were tightly chained to the wall, and a table displaying gruesome instruments of torture and embalmment right in his sweating face. Black eyes took this all in with absolutely no feeling whatsoever. He did not feel anger. He did not feel fear. He just felt a bottomless abyss in his chest, the image of his beloved's shadow burned into the back of his eyelids, her last words to him forever printed over his lifeless heart. _I have failed you, my love_. He could still see her immobile form gracefully laid on a black table, her delicate pristine body enveloped in robes he had found for her, and her petite hands cradled over her heart. His spirits had leapt as high as the Sun god himself when he had seen her eyes flutter open again, her sharp intake of breath confirming her approval of staying with him in this world.

But his joy had gravely cost them both. Nefertiri's Medjai had been on their trail, and before the incantation was complete, he had watched his one and only love fade away before his screaming face, her soul taking a deep plunge back into oblivion in a wail of despair.

His heart black, and his mind empty, Imhotep looked up as he heard footsteps coming towards him. There was the leader of the Medjai, hardly intimidating as he stood proudly before him, and beside the man, there stood…

He gasped inwardly. He could feel Nefertiri's hatred burn in the atmosphere before even setting eyes on her. Though she was small and weaponless, bearing only a cloak and her ceremonial clothes, she seemed by far more intimidating than the fully armed man at her side. She was looking at him, her eyes penetrating his in a flame of silent fury.

"Is it not unusual for a Royalty to grace unholy persons of her divine presence?" he snarled, pride not yet forgotten. She looked like she longed to swipe across his arrogant face.

"You shall not speak this way to your superior! Ignorant son of-" roared the Medjai, raising a nearby whip at once- but Nefertiri held out a jeweled arm to stop him. He glanced at her inquiringly, lowering his weapon.

"Pray tell, sir. In what way were you going to make him suffer?" she asked, her voice like nails over jagged rock. Her eyes began to wriggle uncomfortably into his mind, though he refused to lower his gaze.

"We were going to torture him in the most horrific ways we could find, and then let him ease into a long, painful death," the man spat, like he wanted to frighten the former High Priest. Imhotep didn't even bother to give the man a glance.

"No…" Nefertiri whispered, walking right up to her enemy with eager strides.

"My Lady-" The Medjai warned her, stepping forward- he stopped short as the woman put up a hand and gently placed it on Imhotep's glistening cheek. He struggled not to flinch away from her touch, as her hand brushed down to his jaw in one fiery path.

"I want you to endure the unimaginable," she murmured to him, finishing the stroke with a swift swipe, her nails slashing into his skin and drawing blood. He groaned, feeling it trickle down his neck. "Yes…I want you to live for eternity with the memory of your betrayal forever on your conscience." Her face was right next to his, whispers of icy breath washing over his ear as their cheeks almost touched. "Death would be too kind. To make someone suffer for ages to come… that is within our reach. Wreak havoc over the lands, murder countless more men…is this not why you killed my Father? Wish granted, my Priest. _You will endure the Hom-Dai._"

"M-my lady?" the Medjai stammered, hearing what she was whispering with great worry. She couldn't be serious!

The great Princess of Isis turned slowly, looking at the man in the corner of her eye.

"You will obey, Medjai. I am Pharaoh now, so bend to my will as you did my father's. This man deserves to be put through an eternity of pain, would you not agree?" she hissed, causing the man to take a step back and nod in forced approval.

"Good." She turned back to a stunned Imhotep, almost seeing his anxious heartbeats fluttering in his wide eyes. "Am I incorrect in saying you have a smaller brother amongst the slaves?"

Imhotep stared at her disbelievingly.

"I have no brother," he let her know rather desperately, "nor did I love anyone except Anck-su-Namun."

"Well, well…a man who doesn't love his family? How tragic. Then it will probably please you to know that I shall dispose of them for you." She snarled, turning her back fully on him and preparing to leave.

"That will be impossible, _my lady_, since none of them reside in this world any more." He insisted, "You would be wasting your time trying to hunt them down."

She whipped around again, shooting him a venomous glare.

"Know this, you foul, arrogant little God-player. I own the lands and the Afterlife presently, thanks to your selfish whining. I have a million spies at my disposition, and the peoples of Egypt are under my command. If I say to find all of your despicable descendants, they will obey. If I say to burn them all alive with their last thoughts on your act of betrayal, they will obey! You cannot do anything to stop me, and no one ever will. So now, I suggest you start 'enjoying' life- it's about to become eternal."

She then turned to the baffled Medjai.

"_Ihimmune setnah_!"

**x**

The terrified little boy was thrown into a chamber unknown to him- all the walls shone with rich splendor, gold twinkling down from statues and hieroglyphs, lush plants fluffing their glistening leaves from the pots in the huge corridors. He had never left the rooms behind bars of the slave quarters, if one didn't count going to buy food at the market on rare occasions and wiping vast kitchen floors.

His huge hazel eyes now looked up at the room he had been thrown into- there was a massive golden-rimmed mirror on the wall to his right, and a large bed occupied the other end of the room. The two broad men behind him kicked him right in, so he fell flat on his face and slid painfully across the smooth floor, into the perfume-filled chamber.

His nose snuffed into a fold of impossibly soft material. Opening his eyes, his young vision was filled with gold. He was embarrassingly sprawled over a lustrous golden cloak that had been thrown to the ground, probably just like he had been.

Hearing a clinking sound, he looked up- a little way ahead of him, a beautiful woman was sitting with her back to him on the edge of her bed, hair to one side as her hands embraced the thick length of it, ridding it of its glittering decorations. She turned her head and saw him, her lips stretching into a warming smile.

His fear ebbed away at the sight of such a gorgeous woman. He hastily got to his feet, standing at his tiny height, and smiled back at the lady shyly, fingers scratching his scruffy head.

"What was a lovely little boy like you doing on the floor?" the lady asked him lovingly, getting up to pad over to him, crouching in front of him to gather up the cloak.

"I…" He gulped, still thinking that finally, royalty was being kind, but not forgetting his harsh training that spelt out ultimate respect for them. "Bad men threw me in," He squeaked in his six-year-old voice, knotting his hands together in front of him and bowing his head, still very shy.

The pretty woman laughed a sweet, honey-like laugh, her tender eyes twinkling at him in affection.

"Oh, it's true they can be a little brutal at times. Hurting an innocent little boy like you! I shall have a word with them later, you can count on that." She promised him, smiling broadly at him as she straightened up.

He stood silently, watching her slender arms throw the cloak onto her bed in one smooth gesture, the garment fluttering as it fell slowly like a great, royal bird.

"C-can I ask why I've been called, your Highness?" blubbed the boy as he had been taught to say, looking up at her with trust glinting in his sweet, chocolate eyes.

This earned another sugary smile from his host.

"Oh, you don't have to worry so, little boy. Do you not like my company?" she asked him playfully, running a hand through his thick tufts of hair. He giggled as she tickled him, and shook his head as he pretended to push her away.

"I do your Highness!" he squeaked as she made him squeal with laughter again.

"I think people are too mean with you, darling." She said softly, "You don't have to fear any more, I'll take care of you now. Would you like that?" The boy looked up at her tender eyes, poking his fingers into his mouth timidly, not knowing what to say back.

"Yyes." He managed to say, and then smiled broadly at her, preferring her to the other grumpy owners and important people who shoved him around.

"Good," she said gently, before turning around and taking something from her bed. The boy's little skinny legs were so tired of being dragged around the palace at such late hours, and as he felt he could trust this woman fully, he decided that sitting down a little couldn't do anyone any harm. After all, he was so tired…

"Are you tired, little one?" The lady called to him, not turning around just yet as she took care of something, hiding it from him.

"Yes, a little," he mumbled shyly, a smile touching his lips as her lips curled upwards in adoration.

And then suddenly there was a metal hiss ringing through the air, slicing through the very thoughts of the young boy, and the woman turned around fully, iciness suddenly clamping around her eyes, her face withdrawn into a fierce feline-like glare.

He found himself suddenly whimpering at her mercy, a freezing blade teasing the side of his neck. What was the kind lady doing? What was that trapped, anguished look in her furious eyes all of a sudden?

"Then find rest in death, foul-blooded little traitor," she snarled hatefully, swinging steel into the little boy's frail body. A plume of dark blood frothed out of his neck, spraying the discarded cloak with sombre crimson, and the tiny dismembered body crumpled to the floor, without even the chance to scream…

**xxx**

Her eyes did not have time to open- she was screaming, screaming with all her soul, with no signs that she would ever stop… screaming…

_No…no…NO!!_


	11. Curses, Blood, and a Desert Rose

a&n: Hm... 2900 and something hits. 51 reviews... it's something, I guess. ;) Enjoy the new chapter! It's short, but it's got a little something in it.

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter eleven  
_Curses, Blood and a Desert Rose_**

**xxx**

Leeu awoke sharply as her sensitive ears exploded under the assault of what closely resembled the aftermath of a gas explosion- shrill, screeching screams that ripped through her very eardrums and made her brain vibrate down to the stem.

"What in HELL'S NAME is that?" she demanded to know as the first half of her men that slept in the same tent as her also jumped to sitting positions, eyes wide in alarm and grips flexing automatically around their rifles.

Leeu scowled as she yanked her sleeping bag away from her, ignoring the _ssshhhhrrr_ of the material ripping under her forceful tug- getting to a crouched position, she was about to make her way to the tent entrance when the flaps burst open and a rather baffled bloke dressed completely in black and red made his entrance, his features nearly entirely obscured by the shadows of the premature morning.

"The girl's suffering strong hallucinations, ma'am," he breathed, panting slightly as his obscured gaze struggled to find his boss's figure in the dark. He picked up a muttered 'damnit' and the shuffles of some stocking-bandaged feet scuffling through sand to get to him.

"Is she acting like Nefertiri? Speaking Egyptian? Fe-" The woman's impatient words were drowned by another blood-curdling scream, and some bellowed word that was said so loudly and desperately it sounded much like someone belching blood- though she heard it's meaning rather clearly. It was spoken in rather unceremonious, ancient Egyptian tongue, and was just about the adequate expression to 'oh the horror' in English, but much more expressive.

Leeu frowned, ripping her way through the tent flaps after the one man, all the while ordering at the other men to retreat back into their tent- lots of people would just upset the woman even more. She stepped out onto the cool sand, feet sinking into its almost freezing depths as her alert gaze shifted to the tent that stood directly beside her own. The screams had diminished to agonizing sobs that spelt out some powerful, heart wrenching emotion.

"Jesus H. Christ, Evelyn! What the hell have you been through this time?" Leeu muttered rather to herself, following her comrade at a jog towards the opposite tent's flaps.

**xxx**

She was drowning in the abyss of her terrified screams as she pried her eyes open, though the scenery did nothing to ease her senses- her elegant golden chamber had turned a rotting black, and blood was splattered over the walls, and there was so much of the cursed substance that the howling winds from the bowels of the Underworld dragged it out into long whirling strands, and the winding ribbons of scarlet blood began spiraling around and around her- she could still see the little mutilated corpse of the poor, too-young child, his tiny body bathing in blood as the bubbling crimson ooze cascaded down from his severed neck. She tried so desperately to close her eyes but demons all around her were clawing their jagged nails at her very eyes, straining them fully open for her to take the nightmares in- the little boy's head was rocking slowly, his half-opened mouth stretching into a smile as he regarded her, eyes as red as the blood that was invading everything, and it seemed some invisible ungodliness was still slashing away at his body- gashes ripped through his skin and feathers of dark crimson spurted out everywhere, staining her hands, her face, intruding her mouth as she never stopped shrieking out her very soul…

Voices were churning all around as she choked and suffocated on her vocal cords and the blood that marred them- her eyes revolving, she saw in her subconscious state a tall, broad form that closely resembled a jackal-headed silhouette of a man. Unholy light glinted evilly on his sharp canines as he snarled down at her, towering over her cowering frame, and he brandished a claw of pure, crimson-covered gold, a rumbling drumroll-like rasp of a voice echoing out of his hollow, decaying throat. She couldn't register what he was saying, demons flying all around her at too close a proximity like evil little bats, undead hands stretching out of the darkness to throttle her as she bled on the inside, on the outside…

"_It seems you are determined to fulfill your purpose, youngling…"_ the creature snarled at her, putrid, age-old stink washing onto her face and invading her nostrils like unbearable toxin, "_Nothing goes without price, little one. You should think it wise to keep that in mind."_

"It-it- it is not ME!" she managed to gasp tearfully through her blood-clogged throat, tears of crystal and blood leaking down her face relentlessly. The creature suddenly let out a sharp bark of laughter, the echoes resounding painfully in her ears as she groped desperately for her throat, gnashing her teeth and lashing out her legs against the decayed hands that clawed at her precious skin. The ruby-coloured ribbons of a murdered life twirled around her ceaselessly, threatening to infiltrate her without mercy as the scorching strands whipped at her skin, leaving her shuddering under spasms of excruciating pain.

"_You are cruel to let this _girl_ take your soul on, my love. When the time comes, remember…it is your choice… I would gladly welcome her to the dark depths of my domain, but it is entirely up to you as to whether she dies, or continues living." _The creature was now sinking back into the shadows of blood-tainted oblivion, and with him dragged that mirthless, rattling laughter that seemed to suck at her soul, and she writhed helplessly, gasping for air, her arms flailing as the ribbons of remnants of the Living plunged into her from everywhere, coiling into her body and stretching out the bloody integrity of her innards to make their place, and she screamed in merciless pain, acid seeming to burn her very insides, slashing through her veins, intruding on her heart and tearing through the delicate ventricles-

The voiceless laughter returned from the moaning voids to whisper oh-so-calmly into her deafened ears, rotten tongue still covered with acid-like moisture flicking teasingly around her frail earlobes.

"_I proclaim to the Gods of the Underworld- thy spirit shall be forevermore cursed, and thy body shall return to the ashes of Death, until next arises to take its rightful place. Sweet dreams, Princess…until next we meet." _

**xxx**

Leeu watched with a certain horror glinting in her obscure eyes as her prized captive writhed and lashed out everywhere, mouth opened and sucking desperately at the air, drool trickling down the corner of her chapped lips- her hair swished around the sand crazily, and her eyes were rolled back so the whites shone in the darkness. Ardeth was trying vainly to press her against him to stop her from trembling so violently- his arms were locked around her and squeezing her to his chest, and he seemed to be muttering something not-so-calmly into her ear in a foreign language.

Leeu's dark eyes widened as she recognized what it was he was chanting softly to her- it was a ritualistic spell in one of the oldest Arabic tongues, meaning to draw out the soul and calm its demons. Normally it would be sung to sick folk, with a certain animal's blood sprinkled on special candles all around for the effect to last through the illness. The woman's brows rose as she saw that it would probably not work in this case; if anything, Evelyn was probably suffering that which Nefertiri had undoubtedly been through after she had forcefully called to the Gods themselves for power.

She would've smiled in triumph, hadn't the situation been so…how to say it, unsuited. It suddenly struck her out of the blue that this was a _human _she was dealing with, not some mere cage with an Ancient spirit lurking within.

Ardeth's graceful, meticulous fingers drew carefully over to Eve's bosom, and stopping over her heart, he began to trace strange relic symbols over her skin with the very tips of his light fingers. Could the man work magic!? Maybe he had been taught certain things, being a Medji and all… Skeptically, Leeu raised an eyebrow, thinking that it 'obviously' couldn't work. She refused to succumb to that little nagging feeling of envy hammering irritably at the back of her head, and just sat there in awkward helplessness, very much aware of the half dozen eyes that stared at the same scene in some kind of awed horror.

Though Leeu strongly doubted it was thanks to the Medji's odd spell, Eve gradually began to stop rocking violently under powerful convulsions- she went slightly limp in the dark Medji's arms, eyes closing as she relaxed against his chest, heaving a long anguish-filled breath. Finished his bizarre chant, Ardeth pressed his palm fully against her heart and opened his eyes to look down at her almost fish-limp form.

Leeu hadn't realized she had been holding her breath in all this time- shaking her head inwardly, she had the peculiar feeling that seven or so others let their breaths out as well as her, watching without daring to speak.

The only logic that the black viper could draw out of Ardeth's actions was that he was possibly trying to channel energy into the poor girl's body. Evelyn's eyes slowly slid open a fraction, she seemed to shiver in the man's warmth, and her groggy eyes were shimmering behind a thick veil of tears. Slowly she drew her shaking arms up, brushing over the Medji's muscular rag-covered arms, and then locked them around his neck, burying her head into his shoulder to let out a muffled sob of utter despair.

She latched onto the only source of safety there was around- assaulted from all corners by maddening voices, she desperately sought to bury herself in calm silence, trying to blot everything out as she squeezed herself against his body, sobs wrenching past her shattered throat as she gasped air into her lungs, though she had doubted she would ever regain the capacity to breath. There seemed to be one thing going through her traumatized mind as she firmly kept her eyes shut against all- _oh my God oh my God oh my God…_

"Hey, man. What happened?" Leeu asked as softly as she could drag herself into being, addressing her question to the rocking Medji. The dark fellow didn't look at her or even showed signs that he had heard her, rubbing his calloused hands up and down Eve's back as she wept on his shoulder, seemingly to no end.

"She has had a vision of Ancient times once again," he stated just above a whisper, and Leeu was bursting to snarl wickedly at the tiredness she could hear in his voice. _Sucker…_ Though right now her affair of vengeance seemed quite petty and, if anything, meaningless.

"It was the beginning of the Princess's onslaught of the High Priest's family," The Medji informed them just as calmly, looking at the sandy floor just ahead of Eve's trembling, bare feet. "And…I think she witnessed Nefertiri getting cursed. I'm not sure."

"As I thought…" Leeu said while nodding, "Listen Mr. Man, why don't you just keep up with …what you're doing, and be ready in twenty minutes for departure. Not one more, you hear? And don't try anything, either…" She shot him an odd, accusing look. "Come on you other fools, get out of here and get all your balls of stink tacked up and ready. Oh and I want breakfast to be ready. Who's got the food supplies out here?"

"Uhm, I think it's Jackson. He's in the other tent." One of the guys spoke up, since the others were all popping their eyes out at Eve's shaking form.

"Okay then, everyone get their asses out right now. Get a fire started, and someone get Jackson up and start cookin'. Come on MOVE those lazy butts!" Leeu enthused, swiping an arm out to rudely part the ten flaps, her men filing out one by one after shooting the captives one last curious glance.

Leeu set her glare on Ardeth again, and opened her mouth to speak, carefully choosing her words. "You…" _better take good care of her or your face will get acquainted with sand again,_ she intended to say, but thought better of it. After all it was her that had dragged them into this. And this was what she wanted, wasn't it? That was definitely a step in the right direction.

It was just that…she was still too _human_. Seeing Eve lose it like that probably took a lot- after all, even though Leeu didn't really know the woman, she could see that Eve was a stout-hearted, strong little lady. To get her to break down must've demanded a lot. She was just glad that she wasn't cursed with some Ancient soul's presence…

Ardeth shot her a look that plainly said 'do you plan to stay and chat, or get the FUCK out?' Frowning in annoyance, the woman yanked the tent flaps back and strode out.

When her trembling sobs had finally subsided, Eve gathered the shattered pieces of her mind back together and heaved a sigh, knocking her forehead softly against her friend's bare chest. Along with the evanescent horror, there came that neon-like suspicion…how had he known about what she had been dreaming about? Unless he had already seen everything that had 'Been Written' eons ago, though she doubted it. She listened intently to his racing heartbeat, its soft, sure pounding somehow calming her senses, reminding her of the nights she had spent snuggled against her beloved husband's chest and listening to his heart hypnotize her to sleep.

"Evelyn." His gentle rasp of a voice sliced through her gloomy thoughts, and she gasped involuntarily again, tasting the fresh deliciousness of the night air mingled with his unique, discreet masculine scent. She grunted in reply, not caring that she had her arms around his neck and his were snaked around her waist. Did it matter, after what she had just experienced?

"If you're feeling up to it, would be so kind to recall what you experienced?" he asked her in a whisper, knowing that this was a pretty delicate matter to tread on. Like he thought, he felt her arms tense around him.

"No," she muttered, and then began shaking her head against his chest. "No, no, no, no…"

"It's alright, Eve, you don't have t-"

"NO DAMN YOU!" she cried, and then bashed her forehead against his shoulder quite painfully, sawing right through her cheeks with her teeth to stop a fresh scream from escaping her raw throat.

Almost stumbling backwards in surprise, Ardeth regained balance, cradling her closer to him still, feeling rather awkward as he felt his shoulder throb where she'd hit it.

"I d-don't have to…" she suddenly murmured against his skin, though he thought she wouldn't speak again. He shivered involuntarily as her cool breath seeped over his skin, making it tingle in its wake. Quite suddenly he realized their proximity was rather intimate. Before he could withdraw, she spoke up again, so softly he had to strain his ears to hear her. "You saw it too…d-didn't you…"

"What are you talking about?" Ardeth protested, ignoring the dead weight that fell with a thump in his stomach.

"You… I didn't see you but…I know you're there…always…"

"Eve, what are you talking about?" She wasn't making any sense, though he had a vague idea of where she was getting to. _Damnit…_

"How else would you…would you know about the massacre?" Eve whispered, closing her eyes seemingly in defeat. She could hear Ardeth's smooth heartbeats pump a little more swiftly. _I knew it..._

The dark Medji opened his mouth to protest again when, silently as a whisper, she drew away from him and fumbled clumsily to take hold of his hand with both of hers.

"Evelyn-"

Her tearful gaze averted, she reached blindly for his other hand, so that her trembling hands clutched both of his in a loose grip. Still, she kept her eyes fearfully averted, and he observed her, dread beginning to build in his heavy chest as he regarded her odd actions.

Dragging her gaze up his broad pectoral muscles, his throat, his handsome face… finally she summoned all her will power to lock her eyes to his, unwavering. He noticed her bosom was heaving with her short, frightened breaths, and his dark irises seemed to shimmer in the darkness.

_All too familiar…_

Taking her sweet time, Eve lifted his hands to her face, curling his fingers around her cheeks and his palms setting their warm weight on her delicate cheeks. His reflexes screamed at the unexpected contact and he wanted to jerk his hands away- but her gaze told him otherwise. Hoping that she couldn't hear his pumping heartbeats ringing out in the night air, he frowned questioningly at her, refusing to let his palms register the softness of her skin, and the lovely glint that shone in her desperate eyes…

"What-" He began somewhat impatiently, but she closed her eyes in exasperation with a soft 'shh' to hush him.

"Ardeth." She whispered as softly as the cool desert breeze that ruffled the tent around them. "I want to ask you something."

"So do I-" _Like, what the hell are you doing? For example?_

"I want you to kiss me." She stated simply, hands curled weightlessly over his wrists as she pointlessly sustained them there, his hands cupped around her face.

He almost choked, had he not remembered his dignity.

"Wh-what-??"

"Kiss me," she repeated, as though it seemed as unpleasant to her as it seemed to him, "Like you mean it. I want to check something."

"What, that my mouth is still virgin?!" Ardeth whisper-growled, indignant. "Woman, I suggest you remind yourself that you're married, and you have a child and-"

"God, I'm aware of that!" she snapped back at him, eyes flashing. "Just do it!"

Ardeth cocked an eyebrow, but after another glare from the woman's part, he sighed and brought her face to his gently with his hands still cupping her smooth cheeks. She never closed her eyes, which unnerved him, but to hell with it! _Better just get this over and done with. Why on earth…_

He had thought that a quick peck would suffice. But as soon as his lips pressed fully over hers, the room seemed to shrink back and become entirely overcome by a flood of gold- fire shot out from all corners, elegant torches burning all around, and he found that his mind had completely blanked to sweet bliss, and he slowly deepened the kiss, savouring the sweet taste of her mouth as her petite hands slid clumsily up his arms, caressing his bare skin with her excruciatingly tender touch. He felt the coolness of something metallic clasped around her slender forearms, and he welcomed her as she pressed herself snuggly against his chest. One of his hands that cupped her beautiful face absently drew back to smooth her lengths of silky, straight black hair, and suddenly the room whisked away from them, falling as low as the pits of Hell as they ascended towards the high pristine empyrean, locked in each other's intimate embrace, their lips and tongues under each other's merciless assault, eyes closed in sheer pleasure… They were oblivious to their surroundings as they bathed within each other's presence, his hands sliding around her smooth, honey-coloured shoulders and hers softly caressing his throat and cheeks with a feathersoft touch…

They were both gasping for breath as they broke off in perfect sync, and it felt like being dumped rather ungracefully back into reality. Eve's arms slumped almost instantly back to her sides and she adamantly averted her gaze, a little…perturbed, to say the least. Ardeth could've sworn if he mustered enough courage to do so. His eyes remained shut for a short while, absently savouring her unique taste that lingered…before he regained his senses and looked straight at her, withdrawing his arms from her…and one could say reluctantly…

"Like I thought…" Eve muttered absently, without enough courage to look him in the eye, a slight tremor ringing in her hushed voice.

"What is it?" the Medji asked softly, and she scowled in annoyance.

"Don't play dumb!"  
"Honestly, I don't know what you're getting at-" His voice trailed off as she shifted her dark eyes back to his with some kind of surreal crushing force, hammering him into silence.

And then an elegant, exotic language rolled off her tongue as she regarded him insistently, that little glow in her eyes saying…saying that she knew he could understand her.

"_It's been a while, Tia…"_

**xxx**

The black viper almost blended into the shadows as she performed her lethal dance, sword twirling around her like a shimmering silver ribbon protruding through the air with a hiss. She leapt out of the way of her opponent's attacks almost effortlessly, long necklaces of ivory and gold beads clinking sweetly as they flew around her in a blur of twinkling glints, and she seemed to fly as she turned fully around to strike her foe. The red-clad man struggled to block her attack and the two blades clashed with a metallic grind, bright sparks showering over the warm sand at their feet.

The Sun God had decided to raise Its proud head above the sand dunes a little earlier than expected- bathing the everlasting desert sands of its generous rays, it irritably reminded Leeu that she should hurry with her task.

She surprised her opponent by letting him overcome the blades' meeting, retreating, and then giving a fierce swipe at his left. The crimson scarves that hung over his maroon top ripped with a dry tearing sound and fluttered softly as he took a few shaky steps back.

Leeu gave him a sharp-toothed grin.

"What d'I tell you about defense? Your right's fine, but your left has this pissy tendency to drop. Watch out for it," she offered him advice, and the eleven other men that sat lazily around the dwindling fire listened to her as well, watching the fight with mild interest, bread and water in hand.

Unable to resist showing herself off a little, Leeu leapt back, twirling her hilt expertly around her elegant fingers as the blade sang in sweet harmony with her actions. She ground to a halt and swung effortlessly into ready position, waiting for her opponent to do the same.

"Begging your pardon ma'am, but…" he started, swinging up his blade and also standing at a ready. "When are we departing?"

"Can't wait to get this over and done with, huh? Well as soon as the lovebirds come out of their tent." She knew that she had left them there for nearly an hour, since she had 'sort of' lost herself in training her men to pass the time. Her best guesses were that they had probably caught up on some sleep.

She almost snorted at that; she highly doubted Eve would ever want to see a pillow again in her entire life. In a sudden mood swing, she chucked her sword away, and it planted itself perfectly straight into the sand with a dull _thwuck_.

"On second thoughts, someone go and get them. Can't be pissed to wait any longer." She sniffed, casting a look towards their guests' tent- only to see that a solitary figure was standing on the other side of it, remnants of a once beautiful black robe hanging from his broad shoulders and fluttering softly in the warm winds. How long he'd been standing there, arms crossed and gaze far away, she could only guess.

"Hey Mr. Man! Whatcha doing out there? Go get your girlfriend for me and get your ass over, we've been waiting for you for like an hour!" she called over, and after a minute he responded by slowly uncrossing his arms and ducking back into the tent.

"Alright guys, gather your stuff up, undo their tent while you're at it. Get ready for a long trip…from now we go straight to Abu Simbel. No more stops." She warned them, watching closely as Eve slowly ducked out of the tent, the tall man holding one of the flaps up for her. Her face was rather grim- her lips set in a tight line, she didn't even turn to thank the Medji and she stiffly marched toward Leeu, chin tucked in and hands balled at her sides.

Leeu could do nothing but raise an eyebrow. After watching her strides for a few seconds more, she evaluated that the girl wasn't hurt in any way. Considering it none of her business, she just watched silently as the young woman strode past her and up to her camel, stopping at its lazy head to pat it, speaking to it softly like a little girl.

Leeu was shaken back to reality as she heard the dry sound of something thumping down onto the sand. Whirling around, she saw Ardeth had kicked down her upright sword, watching her coldly as he stood a little too high and proud for someone that had been dragged through scorching sands for two whole days.

She sniffed at him haughtily, registering his blazing ebony eyes with nothing more than a little surprise.

"What do you want, _Medji_?" she spat at him, still as charming as can be. Her eyes widened as the ghost of a smile flickered on his lips.

"Do you have a spare sword around here?" he asked rather too politely. She snorted right in his face, taking to circling him slowly, ducking to grab her blade from the sand, golden grains of it cascading down in a shimmering veil.

"What, you want to _fight_ me?" she giggled almost girlishly, and then swiftly grabbed a lonely, unsharpened blade from one of her comrades' backpacks and threw it to him without warning. Reflexes sharp, Ardeth caught it by the hilt and swung it around with a piercing hiss before holding it upright behind his back.

"That is what I wish," he told her calmly. "_Dead man's daughter or not…" _He continued in fluent Arabic, ignoring her narrowing eyes. "_I want to see who you really are_."

If she was who he thought, then things could get a little complicated…though at least he would see the point to him being kidnapped…

She sniffed down flaring nostrils at him, whipping her blade up so its whetted tip reflected the sun painfully into his eyes. He didn't even so much as flinch, and she grinned maliciously at him.

"_This is where you end, and I begin, Medji. You'll finally take in what I'm really capable of." _She snarled in her natal tongue, "_Fool."_

Ardeth silently swiped his blade in an elegant arch above his head, and then readied it before him, free hand out behind him for balance. His eyes flashed back at her, and he gave a snort, teasing at her pride.

"_We shall see_."


	12. Nymphaea Caerulea

a&n: Ahahaha. I'm glad it's possible to edit these chapters, otherwise I think I would've scared everyone away with the super-duperly retarded author's note that used to be right here. Wait, what am I saying? I already _have _scared everyone away. Ah well. :)  
This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Lucky Fannah, even if she's ignoring me because I was a complete ass a while ago. Will she ever set eyes on this chapter, I wonder? -sighs wistfully-  
(Nymphaea Caerulea is the scientific name for the blue lotus flower, symbol of fertility and rebirth in ancient Egypt.)

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter twelve  
_Nymphaea Caerulea_**

**xxx**

The dark navy-blue fabric stretched and retracted between his clumsy fingers, the blatant hole that had been blasted through it extending gruesomely. He frowned in annoyance as he inspected the teeny little excuse of a tie. This was the tie that his father's father had worn!! Gods, he'd worn this for practically all his darn life- his parent's wedding, his sister's wedding, and he desperately wanted to preserve it for his own wedding…that he hoped would come soon…

_Gosh. Why doesn't God love me_? _Or bloody Bastet for that matter??!_

Every woman he saw either a) got killed, b) hated his guts and/or c) went off him about one or two weeks into the relationship. Hell, if it was because of his tie, he swore, he would personally see to…

But hey!! He narrowed his eyes at the innocent little navy fabric, poking his pinky in the hole curiously. Was it just him, or did he recall one time when he had started getting… he blushed… with Sasha, she had tried to yank his tie off a little too brutally and he had stoutly refused, the night finishing in aroused yells of anger and a slamming door just for the sake of its little petty existence!? And that night when that gorgeously sexy Egyptian woman dressed in black had come into his house with those cultists, had she not been looking at him rather _saucily_ before her obsidian gaze fell on his tie?

It was his tie then! He was sure of it! Why the little - traitorous - - schmutt!!

The man suddenly felt someone's gaze on him. Automatically thinking it was their uninvited- though just _completely_ welcomed- guest, he straightened up, stuck out his chest and gave a little classy 'Ahem!', setting his tie aside. Eyes flicking upward to meet her mismatching ones, he found himself- looking into Rick's gaping brain dead face.

Gawds. The man looked so depressed that even Imhotep in his half-mummified form looked far more kissable.

Rick stared at him oddly. "Jonathan, _why_ the hell are you looking at me like that?!" he barked, that annoying habit of twirling a pocket knife around possessing his scrawny fingers again. The man always resorted to doing this when deep in thought- or deep in worry. Three guesses why he could be worried, when his wife was going to have her soul literally ripped out of her body by an age-old curse, his best friend was being tortured and would undoubtedly be long gone once they arrived, and to top it all, he had his brother-in-law looking at him dreamily like some kind of hormonally instable teenager!?

"Oh, sorry I thought it was—hem, no I'm sorry. I'm just a little shaken, you know…" Jonathan blabbled, nervously plucking his tie back into his fingers again and resuming his interesting little finger-poking affair through the hole. His eyes seemed to narrow into intense concentration- just proof that he was willing Rick to ignore him.

_Just like Alex when he trapped us in that tomb and the Nile was rushing in to drown us. _The resemblance was striking- except for maybe the fact that Alex didn't often think his father was some sexy Arabic lady that looked just about as cheerful as the wife of the Grim Reaper.

Though the air seemed to be full of invisible 500 ton weights, Rick snorted.

"Jonathan, if you _think_ she's so hot, then why don't you go outside with her? We all know your …talents… for chatting up women," he teased, pen knife flicking in and out of his fingers, the blade almost snipping off the hairs on the man's calloused digits.

The ambiance was so damned hot and heavy that Jonathan found himself staring at the knife flying through his brother-in-law's skillful fingers gracefully with his mouth wide open, looking like he'd just downed ten bottles of vodka in 25 seconds. Snapping back to life all of a sudden, the man straightened and pierced through Rick's mocking hazel gaze.

"If you weren't being sarcastic, then I'd say you're darned right, old fellow. But if you were being sarcastic, then …since I'm a CARNAHAN and I'm not called Rick, I shan't sink to your level and start speaking with rude words. God hears all, you know." He announced in a Prince-like manner, and for half a second, Rick actually let himself consider that fact that perhaps old Jonnie had once been Rameses II in another life of something.

He instantly slapped himself. _EURGH! Then that would mean…he and Eve… Oh my GOD, where the hell do these damn thoughts come from!? _

"Well, let's say I wasn't being sarcastic, then for your women appeal I'd say '_God'_ hasn't exactly showered you with blessings has he?" Rick sniggered, and triumphantly watched as Jonathan's eyes narrowed to glinting snake nostril-like slits.

"Wha!!" He yelped indignantly, and then, "Oh, fu-" He started saying what he had intended to say before—but he caught himself just in time. "Well, say _I'm_ not sarcastic either, and I'd say Hathor hasn't exactly showered _you_ with blessings. PAH!"

Rick rolled his eyes. "And _why_ would I want some cow raining blessings on me??" he demanded to know, knife accidentally slipping and clattering to the chipped wooden floor.

"Rick, you blasphemer!" scowled Jonathan, still positively glowering. He held his tie to his heart as if thinking he was a darned passionate little fellow. "Hathor's the Goddess of love and beauty my chap. Wouldn't think that you're one of her children if you get my drift."

Scooping the trusty knife into his fingers with a quick bend over, Rick gave an exasperated splutter at his dear brother-in-law. Seriously, that guy was his _wife's_ brother? _That's kinda hard to believe…_

"Jonathan…" he started, before rubbing the back of his neck with his palm distractedly. "Mmrfh. You're so weird."

Immediately the offended guy opened his baffled mouth to retort something clever- but Rick started casually clipping his fingernail with the pen knife and told him, "Why don't you go play with the kids downstairs and stop buggin me!"

With a snort of disdain Jonathan hopped to his feet, the poor navy tie getting scrunched between his clenched fingers, and he straightened his plain porridge-coloured suit, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, it seems that unlike _you_, I know who best to hang out with. So just shut up and YOU go down with the kids, little motherffff…. icket…" the chap tried to sound menacing, striding over to the tent flaps, his flat cheap shoes creaking over the rappy wood of the trapdoor.

"OI, I thought Eve told you to stop trying to chat up every female butt you manage to glimpse??" Rick shouted after him, planting his penknife into the fluffy depths of the cushion, mildly surprised as the mere strength of his push caused the tip of the blade to imbed itself in the wood under the cushion with a dull _pfuk_.

"I'm not flirting, you womanizer," Jonathan sang over his shoulder, hoping against hope's hope that a certain someone outside hadn't heard that outburst.

"Womanizer!!!?" Rick snorted, "Then what the hell are you gonna be doin out there with our little newcomer? Braiding each other's hair?"

"I'm…" Jonathan blushed, his static arm still upright and the gentle mid-morning breeze blowing against the tent flap that it sustained, the fabric fluttering softly and slapping at his legs. "I'm going to supervise her. You know, I've been supervising Eve since she popped out our mother and started the 'let's-give-Jon-huge-wet-kisses' frenzy. So I think I know women a _little_ more than _you_."

Before Rick could even try to squeeze some kind of word between his splutters, Jonathan had legged it right out of the tent, tent flaps billowing like the whole thing had suddenly come alive and was flapping its great wings angrily at the startled American. He shook his head, taking to try plucking his knife out of the cushion to keep fiddling.

And worrying, once again.

The maroon and orange patches of thick material that held together the balloon of the dirigible were set violently ablaze with harsh glows of gold and orange-tinted glares in the dawning Sun's fierce rays. One had to squint till eyelash touched cheek to be able to make anything out under this scorching assault of light- but those who were accustomed to such spectacles would merely twitch their brows in contemplation.

The clouds seemed like sentient beings impersonating a myriad of strange creatures of crimson and orange- here be dragons, there a flock of blood coloured birds…

She was out by the banister that prevented any incident that framed the edges of the boat of the grand floating transport, thick layers of black cloak wrapped two or three times at least around her body, her silhouette so black and withdrawn that it seemed to clash with the Sun's godly serenade before them. Her obscure cascade of hair was riddled with serpents of gold and scarlet reflects, making it resemble black fire, whipping and swirling out behind her.

Suddenly anything but the presence of this intimidating woman seemed so tempting to the poor old shabby every-day guy named Jonathan Carnahan. He had been standing by the tent flaps for a whole five minutes now, immobile, just watching as the Arab woman's broad frame imposed its dominant presence on the boat. He felt crushed by her eminent power by just standing at ten metres from her.

_What is it that she does that just stumps me like this!? Come on, get some slack old boy! I know there aren't exactly any flowers in the desert for you to come charm her with, but still. _

He tried making up an excuse from himself. _Anyone would want to know a bit about their teammates, right? _

…The word 'mate' seemed to resound in his head for a while, and he slapped his forehead. _Damnit! With the others it was so easy; they practically threw themselves at me, hehaha. But now…_

He coughed, and cleared his throat, and flexed his toes, made to step forward- but failed dismally and just about caught himself before crashing to the floor and dying of utter embarrassment. He had nothing in his hand except for his GAWDamn tie! What, did he think he could like try to bribe her into being mates by offering her his tie or something?

_Keep cool man!! What's wrong with you??! You've never been so jittery. Well except when that gorgeous-no EVIL- Meela girl came in and was going to kiss you but kissed that wretched asp instead. _

He snorted. _People would rather snog mortally poisonous snakes than me?? _Pouting to himself, he realized that that little fact somewhat hurt.

Okay, time to put the act together. Taking a deep breath, he inched his shoe up- and took the first step towards her, forcing that adamant little image of Meela from his mind. Okay, OKAY, he admitted she was darn pretty. And he had -nearly- sighed wistfully when she died. But still, she kissed that snake, so he had no chance.

He mustered up a first phrase. Gods, how many times had he screwed just because of one tiny little start-off phrase…

"………….."

He came up beside her, footfalls creaking oddly as the old wood beneath him groaned under the polish. The fine lines of her pointed face glowed serenely in the blazing light, shades of orange and honey playing across the dips and curves of her taut cheeks and delicate neck, before her skin disappeared beneath swirls of cluttered black cloak.

Without even realizing that he was gawping at her like an idiot, he eventually came to swallowing, moisturizing his dry mouth and strumming life into his vocal cords.

"Ever seen a sun like that?" he asked her, some odd feeling telling him that she was waiting for him so say what was on his mind. What _was_ on his mind, actually? _Uhm…you're HOT? _He flushed fiercely- well, apart from that, obviously.

"After years of living in the desert…no, this dawn surprises me." She said after a few seconds of silence, crossing her arms, causing her cloak to get caught between her hidden chest and her arms in a ruffle of fabric. "Why the question?" she added coolly.

Just the thing _not_ to say. _What, is she some kind of paranoid person who thinks there's some huge reason behind wanting to know something random!? _Now what was he gonna say!? Man, 10/10 on the Major-Screw-up charts. _Congratulations Jon, now she probably knows you're out for a flirt, and she probably also knows you're the Worlds Biggest _Moron

"Wwwell, it's j-just that well, it's, like, uhm….just… beautiful."

Ugh. He could just see huge neon-red flashlights screeching !!PANSY!! all around him.

And then she did the most non-expected thing in the universe. She didn't laugh at him, she didn't jeer or turn and smirk at his lameness- she just gave a very slight half-grin that could be qualified as amusement.

He'd amused her!? Who'd have thought it… _Mental Note- pat yourself on the back afterwards, mate._

"I can't say I disagree. But haven't you already seen the Egyptian sun rise a number of times?" In a sudden mood swing, the woman rounded on him, her fogged eye seeming to swirl with the ghostlike white of a vagabond spirit. To say the least, what remained of Mr. Carnahan was a trembling lump of a man, completely stumped by that single surreal orb of blankness. "While I think of it, I have told you a sufficient amount about my past for you to make out what- mostly who, I am. You, on the other hand, have yet to enlighten me, friend."

"Friend, eh…?" he heard himself utter in that practiced, confident tone that sounded every bit as casual as Rick. Gods, why couldn't he live up to his talents of a Lady's-Man instead of standing here wishing that he was the cool, smug American instead of this excuse of a Carnahan. Gathering himself together, he refused to be as blank-looking as Alex in front of the O'Connell parents snogging, while in front of this Arabic goddess.

"Well, friend, what do you want to know?" he asked her curtly, leaning on the frail banister on one elbow so that he was facing her side.

She looked back out towards the great rising ball of fire, jaw and mouth concealed again by her obsidian scarf.

"Well, what I do know about you is fairly limited. Your companion- of whom I don't even know the name- is married to the woman we tried to kill, solely by duty. I would apologize all I could if I was given the chance, but that part of our mission is over, and I don't appreciate dwelling on the past…" she started, Arabic accent cleaving through her words, making her all the more exotic and enchanting.

"Mmmhm," he encouraged her, trying not to betray his keenness in his tone of voice. Cool and casual, not all wet and wimpy and just downright lame.

"Well. The boy is your child, I presume; it's quite obvious just by your resemblances. But you…are a complete stranger to me-"

Jonathan gaped. "WAIT, wait, wait, wait, I'm not Alex's father! Gods no! He's Rick –the American- and Eve's son. Eve being the girl you….well, the girl." He quickly set straight, ignoring her inquiring flick of the faded eye in his direction.

"Oh? Well then, that still leaves us with your identity. You are a sibling of Alex then, correct?" Gladys hazarded a guess, earning a nod from her companion.

"Yes, yes, I'm his uncle." This he was quite proud of, naturally- he absently puffed out his chest, buttons on his shirt straining over his pectoral area. One would never have thought that Jonathan, I mean _Jonathan_, could ever even consider trying to gain a proper muscular form- but what with the adventures he was being roughly dragged through (and he dearly wished he could add 'and all the feverish acts under the covers') he was really beginning to get some shape into his formerly flabby pectoral muscles and stick arms.

"I recall that in our previous…shall we say conversation, you were cut off in mid-phrase by your American friend. May I inquire what it was you were going to say?" The subject of his sudden unusual self-consciousness asked very politely, as if she did not have to add some kind of threat to her question to make him answer- the way she seemed to wield authority just had him almost intimidated.

_But, like she said! She's a friend. No need to be scared of a friend right? Nope-ee. _

…_Well aside from the fact that Ardeth scared me shitless when I first saw him. But hey, that just proves the fact._

And then he actually started registering her question instead of wondering why he was being so wet and totally un-Carnahan like in front of this woman. Hm…what had he tried to say again? They had been talking about Imhotep's first rising, and…that was it! He was just going to 'let her know' that it had been them- Eve, Rick, Alex and himself- that had put a stopper to their old mummified friend's little comeback party. But Rick had been as rude as always and run over him. The nerve of that fellow! He wouldn't even let Jonathan try to become friends wi..th…

Thinking quickly, the coin suddenly dropped- Mr Carnahan finally saw that sometimes he opened his mouth a little too widely… Gladys could've been an enemy and he would've gone and said they had been the culprits of Imhotep's "stuffage back into the grave". Exactly how she would've taken it, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

But, to hell with it. He was trying to have a conversation here. Hmph! Stuff Rick and his little insignificant paranoia's. If he wanted to recount his two hot'n'sticky adventures with those godawful lover-mummies to her, then so be it. Clearing his throat, he decided to start things properly by the way it all began. Naturally.

"Well, you see, four years ago…"

**xxx**

Footwork was crucial, even though his own soles had been literally grated right off of what remained of his feet- sores and boils erupted all over the poor things as though they had suffered the bloody sixth plague of Egypt. He had tied a strip of the wreck of his robes around his left foot as a black bandage, so only his exposed toes were carbonized by the sand at each movement, but the rest of his foot was rendered blessedly immune. Swiping his feet around in the sand, grains showering everywhere in clouds of shimmering gold crystals, he danced from side to side, one arm bent over his face for protection against his foe and the Sun's blazing glare, and the other manipulating gracefully the blunted blade that had been given to him by his nemesis.

_She_ was all well and fit, feet encased in worn leather boots, the heels digging into the pools of burning sand around them, and she wielded her own whetted weapon with unrivaled skill- he found himself time and again forced into retreat, constantly on defensive though normally he would swipe recklessly at his opponent and not give a shred of care for his own health. The african Medusa was slicing at his stamina as viciously as ever- she relentlessly twirled around his attacks, taking advantage of his milliseconds of tired hesitation to elbow him in various places mercilessly, and every so often she would perform some kind of absurdly skillful gymnastic that ended in him receiving a dollop of screeching hot sand in his face and up his nose.

Practically unable to breathe, the courageous Medji ploughed on- he began to see through her actions, and detect the patterns in her movements- though he lacked the strength to throw her off because of this gnawing fatigue that she completely enjoyed inflicting on him, he could almost predict which action she was going to take next.

That being, because he had already fought her before.

Or, someone like her…

Getting fed up with the potential weakness of her enemy, Leeu suddenly called it off- she spun around one of his feeble attacks to then elbow him square in the face- giving a painful grunt under the swift assault, Ardeth didn't have the time to turn and face her- she clenched her fingers into a fist and, making her blade hop to the other hand, she whacked him round the face continuously until he gave away and staggered backwards, summoning all his will power to not fall back on his butt in defeat and satisfy her.

"Resistant, are we?" she muttered with a wicked grin, then suddenly surprised him with an upward swing of her sword- he parried with difficulty, and she snaked her blade around his own with a painful sting of metallic hisses, then before he knew it his blade was snapped away from his hands. She swung her sword upward again in an elegant half-circle, very nearly slicing into the raw, pink flesh of his shoulder- had he not inched back just in time, completely expecting that movement.

She twitched an eyebrow as he stood very still, side on, glaring at her from the corner of his eye, strands of unruly pitch black hair tumbling into those dark fiery orbs.

"I suppose I have to congratulate you for predicted every single damn move I did, chump," she laughed mockingly, chucking back her sword into the sand beside a nearby open satchel and bending over to tug the opening of the linen bag shut.

"No…" the Medji rasped, still seeming very dignified though she had just beat the crap out of his system and still had a couple of days left to humiliate him in what ways she thought best. Raising a mildly interested eyebrow, Leeu scooped the bag up and carelessly dumped it on her hip, preparing to turn around and saunter back to her camel- but she stopped with her back to her captive as he added,

"You fight exactly like the man who taught you. It is…peculiar."

She snorted, possibly trying to make him drop that suspicious tone he had. "Ooh, the 'man', eh? What makes you so all-knowing? And the only thing that seems peculiar to me is that a woman barely in her twenties can defeat some full-fledged great Medji who thinks he's such a damn hardnut. Now just shut up and get your ass over to your camel. You should be grateful that your friend needs unexpected care, and that you're not still being dragged across the whole bleedin' desert, mister," She casually threw the bag to one of her men who was climbing up onto his camel's humped back, and then the rest of the cultists who weren't on their camels yet gathered up their belongings and hurriedly got to their mounts.

Ardeth had a pretty hard time keeping his emotions in check- _soon, soon she'll be vomiting sand and blood and kneeling at our feet begging for mercy…_ Shivering at how his fierce mind's voice sounded like Imhotep's psychotic rantings, he bent over with difficulty to slide his fingers around her sword's slender hilt.

Clicking her fingers at her camel and half-kicking it impatiently for it to get to its bony knees, Leeu regarded the Medji out of the corner of her eye. Okay, so the man was worn down to nothing by her antics, but the image of him holding a sword still put her on alert.

"_The one who trained you was an excellent adversary_," Ardeth spoke in gentle Arabic, seeming not to want to arouse her highly strung emotions any longer.

She supposed he meant that as a compliment. Restraining from snorting in his face, she scowled at herself inwardly as she felt the susceptible part of herself bubble at his words mirthfully- he was her nemesis! She hated him more than the world and what came afterwards, for killing her father. There was no way he had ever been able to hold her dad in a high esteem, she could just dream on.

But then why was he being gentle with her!? This wasn't like him, the way she knew him after the few violent weeks that had passed with him at her mercy. Maybe he was going to lick her boots till she trusted him worthy of being a friend?

This time she afforded him a mocking smirk. _Yeah, right. That would _really_ work out._ She waited for some kind of continuation of his little weird mood swing- but he was silent for a full minute, lost in thought apparently as he fingered the edge of her prized blade with the tip of his rough finger.

"Yeah, well, do you plan on ambushing us all by your onesies with that thing or d'you feel like giving it back to me?" she snapped impatiently, rounding on him with a hand on her hip and the other one held out.

From atop her camel, Eve was watching closely. All this time she had been silent, just watching his movements, seeming to remember every little swing of his sword that he gave- it was like she had all seen it first-hand. The way his body arched gracefully, his lengths of ebony black locks flying around his face, mouth set in a tight line of concentration and bare muscles on his arms rippling beneath the bruised skin… such uncanny grace…though it seemed to tug at her heartstrings to watch him perform such a lethal dance. What remained of the tired little life-bringer was pumping away relentlessly in what seemed like fear as she watched him, eyes slightly narrowed, gnawing teeth absently nibbling the side of her thumbnail.

"Indeed… I wonder," the Medji began, brushing the sand from his bandaged hands and gripping the sword by its blade, miraculously without cutting himself, and sustained it there, the hilt wobbling slightly in Leeu's direction. "Am I right in saying you are Lock-Nah's daughter?"

No other person on the planet could ever have been as utterly puzzled as Leeu, at that precise moment. She stared at her own sword's hilt, the sleek pale-beige ivory catching the reflects of the sun, streaks of colourless light dancing across the surface. The man had said she fought exactly like her father- Lock-Nah- and that he was an excellent fighter. Which meant…_she_ was an excellent fighter too?

Inside, she allowed herself to be temporarily flushed- it wasn't every day that people actually came up with valuable compliments, especially for her- but immediately kicked herself for that moment of weakness. Who was she kidding!? Had she suddenly turned into some little susceptible giggly twat who lapped up anything anyone said?? She imagined her father's handsome face, broad contours of its black splendor creasing into a frown. _Never trust what your enemies say_. He'd always pounded that into her head, and she wasn't about to forget it- but she'd always been a little naïve… he always said that she'd craved compliments. Oh, to hell with it!

Swallowing all of a sudden as she realized she had spent a whole two minutes mulling over a simple string of words coming from her captive's mouth, she managed to close hers embarrassingly and snatched her sword back, sliding it mechanically into her belt.

"Don't you start getting cheesy on me, Medji. Say you love me- I'll never take you seriously, idiot. This is your _enemy_ you're talkin to, have you forgotten your place or something!?" she snapped, slipping a leg over her camel's side and vaulting her nose up in the air as the gurgly animal heaved itself clumsily to its feet.

"Come on now, get to your blerdy camel," she snapped, immediately brushing aside her confused thoughts about his sudden change of tone and keeping them locked up so that she could mull over them some time later.

**xxx**

The talkative old chap was positively overjoyed. He'd manage to draw sweet Heavenly laughter from his partner while he spoke of the arduous tales of his adventures with Imhotep. _Laughter_!! One would think such perfect chime of silvery bells would never arise from the Arab Goddess's throat, but he had heard it alright. Jonathan's spirits were as high as Nut's majestic bosom itself as he eagerly flung his hands out in wild gestures and tromped around the grand dirigible's boat in amusing mimes of what had happened in Hamunaptra and the seemingly infinite jungles of Ahm Shere. As she watched him, eyes glinting though her slight smile was concealed behind her sombre black scarf, she did sometimes seem a little disbelieving.

As he drew to the end of Ahm Shere's near-disastrous events, she was shaking her head at him, streaming locks of ebony hair coiling around her delicate, hidden neck.

"I find it hard to believe that you actually fought the Scorpion King barehanded, and then caught the spear from your teammates and thrust it through the Great One's body. A mere mortal could not even attempt such things without being ripped apart. Either you are extremely skilled, or just plain suicidal and acting on mere, fearful instinct."

…Oh, alright, alright. Maybe he _had_ switched around a few details. Details! Honestly, what was the big fat badness about that? All the other lovely ladies he had held at his hip had eagerly lapped it all up, and he had managed to create quite the respectable image for himself in the clubs and other places he sometimes went to. Gods, what was wrong with a little fantasy?

Sighing, he flicked away the immaculate hem his beige blazer to snuggle his hands over his hips.

"Okay, okay, I might have changed some things. Let's just say that when you combine forces, you can do anything. Right? Right! And, uhm so, where was I…?" he stammered, anxiously flipping back some of his hair and trying to slip into a somewhat seductive pose.

"Yes, well… I suppose you're right," Gladys admitted, uncrossing her arms to draw her scarf from around her neck in a swift, elegant arch of her left arm. The obscure fabric unfurled from her neck, caressing the smooth skin in one long swipe as she pulled the whole of the scarf away and folded it distractedly, looking out to Ra's blazing eye, which was already looming at quite some height above them.

It was then that Jonathan realized how hot it was- smoke seemed to steam from beneath his flimsy suit, and he steadily watched his 'friend' all wrapped up in her layers of black clothing, pitying her for a second. Gods, she looked toasted under all of that. He was about to ask how she could bear wearing that stuff in the desert, but then that applied the request of her taking it off. His mind's eye automatically peeling off the layers of clothing to get to what was underneath, the poor fellow flushed and turned away from her, cursing her for…for…? Being so damn pretty, that's what!!

Coughing slightly to catch her attention once again, the man leaned casually on the banister and put up his hand in a gesture, opening his mouth to speak—

Except that hand was the one where the little prosecuted tie had been held prisoner. All too keen on being released, the little slip of navy blue material immediately caught the wind and rode on the soft breezes, all too happily to escape from its owner.

For a minute Jon's chocolate-hued eyes followed its miniature escapade, before he shrugged and let the little bugger fly off to he-cared-not-where. Once Gladys had her rapturous attention on him once again, he fully gathered up the opportunity and flashed her the most seductive half-smile he could conjure up and began serious affairs; flirting without being found out by his lovely companion. Even an extremely skilled spy could not even attempt this without failing dismally- only Jonathan Carnahan in person could succeed. And was he known for it…

The winds carried the twirling tie relentlessly, and the tiny piece of clothing seemingly flapping minute dark-blue wings as it bumped into the wooden edges of the dirigible boat. Like a teeny blue bird it glided through the air, lost in the swirling of the breezes and the puffing fumes that the huge exhaust pipes coughed out. In a sudden change of direction, one of the grand, glinting metal pipes sucked it in as the fumes churned relentlessly—the poor little tie got caught in the depths of the exhaust pipe, forever its prisoner, spinning over itself in despair.

But, unfortunately, the meddlesome little tie got stuck a little too deep in the pipe.

In one millisecond, the monstrous exhaust pipe displayed its evident distaste for this tie's invasion- it chucked up an enormous cloud of dark, twirling fumes, to then give a loud explosion-like sound from deep within its metallic bowels.

Under the assault of the exhaust pipe's rebellion, the whole dirigible rocked on itself, another much louder explosion tearing out through the quiet morning atmosphere- so loud that one could be sure the whole desert had trembled under its atomic demeanour, sand dunes cowering in fear of its furious roar.

Alex and little Sierra clutched at each other in the belly of the dirigible to stop each other from rolling right over and across the matted floor- the explosion was right next to them, and the two poor kids were sure their eardrums had been totally wiped out—above them, Rick desperately clutched at the bench to stop himself from tumbling over head first into the open trapdoor, obviously with a loud curse—and outside, Gladys had automatically gripped the banister and held on tight as the boat rocked in one huge convulsion, but Jonathan had been too busy playing casual and smashed right into the woman's chest; biting back a yelp of utter surprise, she detached one of her hands from the banister to grab his shoulder in a vice-like grip and held him steady (and away from her chest).

Izzy squeezed his fingers around the new, polished wooden wheel, eyes popping as he gave a squeak and pressed himself against the wooden rungs. What was happening to the one love of his life?? His little baby couldn't give up on them now, when they were hovering above the desert in all its scorching hot, endless sandy splendor, no way, no way!!

The airborne ship hung in the skies for a moment, completely still, as if shuddering after that outrageous outburst- before another loud popping sound erupted from the offended exhaust pipe. No one saw, but the little trapped tie finally made its escapade, shooting out from the exhaust pipe's gloomy depths and whizzing through the air gleefully, making for the desert sands way below them.

Sierra was screaming, Alex trying to calm her fretful senses with hurried, comforting words- Rick let out a loud… you-know-what-word- Gladys, who had not been expecting another blow, had loosened her grip, therefore poor old Jonathan was sent sprawling out on the chipped wooden floor of the boat, mouth contorted into some sort of confused yell.

Trying to make a vain grab for him, the black clad woman steadied herself as the ship calmed itself finally, starting up its engines again and continuing on its way as if nothing had happened.

**x**

Some way away, in the midst of the glittering plains of never ending sand, a dozen or more eyes snapped up to the flawless azure sky, wondering what in the two kingdoms of Egypt that exploding noise might have been…

**x**

Jonathan finally opened his eyes, blurred vision taking in the rough wood that his cheeks were scraping almost painfully again. Groaning to himself, he forced some life into his screeching articulations and heaved himself to his knees, back popping loudly and cinches in his arms cracking. Gods, had that been some landing! Opening his mouth to stretch his jaw a little, he ignored the throbbing pain in his forehead where the floor had met his skull as a first.

Gladys stood infront of him, hand extended and eyes watching him sternly, though to an expert's scrutinizing gaze there seemed to be what looked like genuine concern lying in those nightshade depths.

_Oh, great going, Mr Seductive,_ he berated himself, shamefully grabbing her hand and allowing her to heave him up and steady him, both of them standing just a little closer than formal friendship would allow. Her mismatching eyes observed his own with mild interest, his deep brown orbs flicking subconsciously to the rest of her face…including the sweet curve of her thin, pursed lips… and then she afforded him the slightest of grins and let go of him, vainly brushing a gruesome scratch that tore across the poor man's brand new suit.

"Watch yourself, 'friend'," she uttered, taking a sudden step back as if she suddenly realized how close they were standing. "Are you alright?"

"Oh yes, yes, I'm perfectly--"

He was about to finish his all-too-brave sounding reply when two rough, violent hands clenched around his ruined suit's collar and he was rudely yanked into a much uglier face- male, for one, and _truly_ pissed off.

When you know Rick, you also happen to know that pissing him off is like signing a death contract.

"WHAT the hell happened Jonathan!!??" he roared in the baffled man's face, and with certain sadness Jon watched his Mr LustMachine image shatter under Rick's assault. "I know it was your fault! I KNOW IT!! What did you do THIS time, huh!?"

"I DIDN'T DO A BLOODY THING OLD CHAP!! Now would you _please _let go of me!!" _You're ruining my show here, you bloody idiot!!_ There went his dear brother-in-law again, being irrational as always. How could anything _possibly_ be his fault??

How could…

Wait…

Caught by a sudden irate suspicion, the man padded around his clothing with his flat palms, rubbing the back of his neck and running them down his chest, eyes darting everywhere as he seemed to be searching for something.

Rick watched him very oddly indeed, dropping him and standing a little way away, eyeing Gladys rather suspiciously. _She doesn't look one bit cheesed. Did the guy actually…? Geez, I'd never have thought-_

He kicked himself. Now was not the time to think about that sort of crap!!  
"What is it?" The heavily accentuated words tumbled graciously from the woman's mouth, and Rick closed his mouth as he was about to ask the very same thing. Jonathan's bewildered gaze looked up at them both, though he looked very…very _cool_. Unusually cool.

"Oh, I just thought it might have been something I had on me but _nah_," A little flip of the hand to reinforce his negation. Well, as he was so skillful at lying, he earned one narrow-eyed glare and one deep, irritated sigh.

"You know, I have known you for about 3 hours and I can already make out that you were not entirely sincere with that statement," Gladys uttered, earning a muttered 'Damn Straight' from Rick.

"Listen you little damn pygmy, if you say what's on your mind, we promise not to yell at you. Alright?" The American said a little too calmly for his current screwed-up expression, jabbing his finger at the poor guy.

Gladys lifted a perfect, arched eyebrow at the confident guy. '_We'?_

"Well…" Jonathan hesitated. Flicked his gaze to his not-quite-brother.

"We _promise_." Rick assured him, nodding agitatedly to urge him on.

"I might have lost my tie…and it might have got stuck in the exhaust pipes…but nothing serious."

"...nothing serious?"

"Well, I suppose--"

"NOTHING FUCKING SERIOUS?"

Jonathan winced- _Second Mental Note: never trust those darned Yankees for one second of your life!_

And the totally unexpected thing suddenly occurred once again- a certain black-clad young Arabic woman stepped between the two men, imposing her dark presence. She turned her piercing, haunted gaze to Rick and the wind itself seemed to withdraw. The American shuddered involuntarily.

"You should consider holding your promises, American. And I do not like people vainly raising their voices over a completely innocent man. How would it be his fault if the garment caught the wind and got stuck in the exhaust pipe?" she spoke softly, but firmly, again wielding that crushing authority of hers.

"Look- It would be his damn fault because--"

"Second- you have no proof. So please, refrain from yelling in people's faces for absolutely no reason. Everyone gets upset and we get absolutely nowhere by arguing." There was a pause, in which the threesome could hear a child's frantic yelling. Three pairs of eyes slid over to the tent's immobile flaps, and immediately Gladys brushed past the men, heading for the trapdoor to probably soothe her daughter.

The guys looked at her sombre frame as she ducked and disappeared into the black inside the tent. Just staring at her disappearing, Rick thought about that seductive little option of dragging her back out and yelling at her for being so damn cocky- what, she really thought she had suddenly stepped up onto the golden podium where his lovely little Eve currently stood and could suddenly order him around as she wanted!?- but instead, he twisted around on his heel to jab a painful finger at Jonathan's not-so puffed out chest.

"Listen." The Yankee started, spitting his words out. "I won't say that I blame you but-"

"Why would you? God, I don't see how I could've done anything wrong- the dirigible's up and running, isn't it?" the ruffled man protested.

"Yes but see! That explosion –or-or whatever the damn thing was, could be heard for miles around!!" Rick hissed, and it seemed to be even more deadly than him yelling. "The whole POINT of having this dirigible is to sneak up on people! Surprise them, you know! Now they're alert to our presence!!"

Jonathan's eyes widened. He hadn't thought about that little booger..

"But they probably already knew we were coming after them?" He tried to reason in vain, but the despairing shake of the head he earned from Rick told him otherwise.

"Yes, but not from the air, idiot!" He sighed. "Look, let's just go in, and we'll talk over it with everyone, alright?"

Jonathan obediently followed his…friend… into the tent, suddenly feeling guilt crushing down on him with an impossibly heavy hammer. Had he really put them in that much trouble…?

_God almighty. Eve'll never forgive me for this…_

He hung his head.

A little thought managed to cheer him up though, as he ducked into the tent. _Maybe Gladys will, though…_

**xxx**

The late morning blessings that Ra lay graciously upon the desert walkers washed like golden water across Leeu's dark chocolate skin as she bent her neck backwards, looking up at the skies along with the rest of her crew. A frown creasing over her stunningly beautiful features, she racked through her brain, trying to catch that little detail that could explain what that had been.

Sitting once again up on the saddlebag, and absently thanking Allah for the softness that he was snuggling into after all that horrid scraping over scorching hot oven floors, Ardeth needn't look up to the Heavens to know what that had been. Feeling her already rigid body tense up even more, he could tell that Eve knew what it was too- indeed; she almost instantly twitched her head a bit to the left, indicating she wanted to speak to him.

"God… if that was Jonathan, I swear I'll…" she muttered, so that no one except the Medji and his acute hearing could hear. Though they had been a dire situation for, well, he had given up counting the days… he managed to work his strained lips into a grin.

"I don't have a doubt that it is," he murmured back to her, absently acknowledging his mouth speaking directly into her mass of unkempt hair and her slight body pressing against his battered chest as she leant back for him to hear her more clearly. Strangely, he didn't seem to mind…

"Hey, you don't think that-that _woman_-" _Ugh. Horrible, despicable little wench bringing the rest of the female race down! _Unconsciously her brows knitted in a distasteful frown. "-would have any idea that it's… that it could be…?"

"To tell you the truth I wouldn't know for sure…" It was the indeed the truth he spoke, though when he thought about it, Leeu had had liaisons with Lock-Nah's group after the Great One's second rising- perhaps, if the battered and bloody twosome were finally deprived of all kinds of luck, the cultists had told her about Izzy's dirigible?

_I really, sincerely, hope that she doesn't know. And Allah if she somehow does, then I hope that Mr O'Connell up there doesn't do one of his 'burst-into-the-crime-scene-naked-with-a-gun' takes again. Otherwise…well, we're all dead._ _That much is obvious._

"Oh God," It seemed that Evelyn here was having the exact same thoughts. "I'm sure Jonathan and Rick will have thought up some kind of plan B incase they got caught like that. I mean, they might even have-have scraped some help in there with them-- so it's not like there isn't any chance that they'll actually save us.

"…Right, Ardeth?"

"Whatever you say," Was his hopelessly brief answer.

Eve stared into space incredulously, since she couldn't contort her whole body around and look at his face. She felt like she could gouge his eyes out and eat them right then and there. Whatever you say? _Whatever you bloody say_!?

God, she was starting to get sick of his oh-so-comforting, tactless ways. He had maybe been trained to perfection by the best Medji warriors in the world, but perhaps sometime it would do him good to run into the best housemaids in the world just to get a lesson about _life_, in all its lovelily simple splendor. Didn't he _know_ anything about being _sensitive_?!

"Well WAYHO, thanks so much for the words of comfort," she hissed so as to try venting it out with words without being rude. Which was pretty hard, actually- but one would preferably not be seen screaming obscenities in someone's face just to get a "Whatever you say" as a positively terrifying comeback. "So if I take you seriously they _won't_ be coming to save us in the end, will they?"

"Well, unless you were expecting just to sit on a camel waving an arm in the air and screaming how helpless we are to those who would actually sit around to listen, I suppose _we_ should try to think up a plan B before we end up depending on a bunch of cor-" _Er- 'corpses' wouldn't exactly be a word of comfort. Damn her for being so sensitive! _"-of, well, disabled men." Disabled men? Wow, prizes for the absolutely charming synonym, the darn woman's bound to be more at ease now. Unsurprisingly, Ardeth felt very safe whilst being behind his friend, since if she would've looked at him now he would've crumpled up and melted into the saddlebag, nothing more than remains of flesh and little strips of what once was his most prized ritualistic piece of clothing.

But instead, Eve's jaw had dropped once again. That was the _second_ time she had witnessed Ardeth trying to be funny!? Wow, honestly, he must have some kind of heartfelt emotion for her if he actually decided to joke around for once in his life!

She mentally tutted at herself. _Come on, that was a little harsh. Just because he won't- and I'm sure you wouldn't even let him if he tried- gather you up into his arms and kiss you Cupid-style like Rick, doesn't mean you've gotta go and criticize him. _

"Well then, if I get your point, we have to figure out some way to get away from a half-crazy, mentally deranged woman and her 11 sad little acolytes armored up to their teeth and bearing fifty million different kinds of weapons. Yes, and that's going to be _dreadfully_ easy," Her voice was dripping like the camel in front of them who was currently worsening the already stuffy smell with its charming display of bladder efficiency. "Oh, and I don't even need to point out that we're both in a perfectly fit state to just charge them and nick all their weapons and then kill them all while dodging flying daggers and-and grenades and God-knows-what else _and then_ just ride off across the 999 miles of desert back to safety. Right- I'm practically naked, you're about as tough-looking as a juiceless kumquat and this DARN camel is going so fast that hell's gonna freeze over before we even get the chance to whip its fluffy stinking BUTT!!"

Ardeth's eyebrow twitched. If it were for that precise moment, he could've believed Jonathan's persona had suddenly popped up out of nowhere like that guy had a tendency to do and had taken over Eve's usually very _dignified_ mouth. Maybe siblings just had this annoying habit of taking over each other's thoughts? Wasn't Jonathan the one who hated camels, anyway? _Filthy, stinking, flea-infested little…_

The corner of his mouth was twitching suspiciously upwards too. His old friend was indeed extremely upset.

Before he could even open his mouth though, she once again whined, "And plus we'll have to do all this in the middle of the day, when our best friend Ra thinks its just spiffing to toast us to a crisp, since at night Nefertiri just loves coming over to have a-a little fun, with my own mind!" Her arms finishing their absurd flailing, Eve let them flump back down into her lap, and huffily straightened up so that she wasn't half-leaning on the Medji's chest any longer.

_Allah_, if that woman had any talent for things unrelated to romance and Egyptology, it was certainly something to do with her whining as if she had shrunken back to being 5 years old again.

"Listen Evelyn, I understand we have a lot of …shall we say problems." He decided to keep this simple, so that she wouldn't launch into another whine-tirade and keep going until he stuffed her on a random cultist's camel and escaped with their camel, screaming in insanity. "But we'll be getting absolutely nowhere by just wailing and arguing. Alright?"

A simple, simple choice of words, bearing a huge weight that could've smashed her flat with utter embarrassment. Looking down on her lap, Eve felt that slight tinge of crimson bloom over her otherwise pale cheeks, and she fell silent, kicking herself inwardly.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, not sounding very apologetic, but sounding very much embarrassed at her outburst.

"Right," Ardeth nodded, praising whatever Gods existed for having calmed her down. He was just about to open his mouth when she ran him over again. Sighing, he listened on anyways.

"Well then, what do we have in our favour, if we're gonna get out of here?" She still sounded a little disbelieving, and honestly Ardeth couldn't blame her. Watching the 12 enemies swaying away on their camels infront of them with mistrust glimmering in his obsidian gaze, he tried to concoct some sort of plan for escape.

"Alright, there's thirteen camels, though they're not exactly all at our disposition," he muttered, voicing his flow of thoughts. Eve nodded, though her sunken, dull eyes didn't look that confirmative.

"Yes, well, that's quite obvious."  
"I know, I'm thinking." Was the irritated baritone of an answer.

"Alright, alright." There was a little silence, and the hot desert air seemed to buzz suspiciously- a little concerned, Eve flicked her gaze to a certain very much despised woman wrapped up in red, colours clashing with her dark, sun-kissed skin. Sure enough, the woman was a little way ahead and looked as though she was deep in thought, not listening or even caring about what her two captives were up to. She needn't even give them a single thought- their camel's halter-like bridle was attached to her own animal's saddle by a rough three-metre rope that looked very sturdy indeed.

If a fly would've flown by, its buzz would've been excruciatingly painful to the ears, in the midst of the muffled silence.

"Ardeth…don't you have, well, the fleeting suspicion that…?" She shifted uncomfortably, picking at their mount's stringy rope reins.

"They can't hear us, since we're quite some way behind them and most of them are up to their eyebrows in cagoules anyway. And also we're keeping our voices reasonably down. Well, I am anyway…" Ardeth reasoned absently, finally coming up with something, though the something was bound not to comfort anyone's fretful state of mind. "Listen, I think it may be better if we wait till the next time we camp-"

"I…I don't think they _are_ going to camp any more. When we left, Leeu said that it was going to be the direct route to the Great Temple, didn't she?" The young ex-librarian said with interest, her thumb somehow finding the way up to the corner of her lips all by itself to them become under the assault of her nibbling teeth.

Ardeth sighed at this realization. There was really a short amount of time then, before they… _before they what? Kill me in the most gruesome way some vengeance craved woman could think up of, and do something terrible to Eve that I daren't imagine…?_ She was right, they had to think up of something in the next few days, and preferably fast.

"You're right. Then maybe our best chances would be to attempt something while we're at the Temple itself," he said resignedly, bracing himself for another assault of words from her part again- but instead she just sighed as well and shook her head, hair brushing teasingly at the sensitive skin of his neck and his exposed pectoral area.

"I think we'd be personally done in by whatever Gods you believe in if we backed out now, after all we've already been dragged through," she spoke slowly, as if trying to convince herself as well as him. "Okay then, say we're at Abu Simbel…"

"What is your knowledge of that place?" As the best librarian in the whole of Cairo, and possibly of England too, she must've known several things about one of Egypt's most famous temples. And as the smart woman she was, she would most probably take pleasure in filling him in on the details, too.

She hesitated for a moment, body swaying with the odd, lazy strides of their camel. "Well…I…" She let out a helpless laugh. "I know about lots of the sites history and the hieroglyphs and all the statues of Rameses II and…and!" She flicked one finger up as if she suddenly had a moment of enlightenment. "There was a side temple for his most beloved sister, too…in other words, a temple dedicated to me…"

"To Nefertiri."

She whipped her head up at this, and he could sense some sort of questioning about her.

"The temple was dedicated to Nefertiri, not to you." He hoped she would see that clearly- that her thoughts should not meddle with those of the ancient Princess's who lied deep within her somewhere, hidden. For the two women to fuse as one would be a very bad idea indeed.

Eve didn't understand what he was getting at. "Yes, well, there isn't that much of a difference. But I was thinking, if _I'm_ needed for their experiment or whatever they have in mind, and that in my past life my brother dedicated a temple to me—then just maybe it's in that temple that we're going, not in Abu Simbel…and that would mean…"

Ardeth stared at the back of her head, lapping up her words with increasing interest. He took an absent note at the drastic change in her behaviour- when she wasn't in her panicked end-of-the-world mood, she could be very interesting to talk to, what with her recent and past knowledge.

"Is there anything that happened in the temple?" he inquired softly, as if not to break her chain of thoughts. She seemed to be meditating on her speech.

"Hang on, I'm thinking…I'm sure I read something somewhere…hang on, eerrmm…" Her head bowed in thought. "…Did I read it somewhere? I don't think so…no wait, I'm pretty sure I didn't…" She was mumbling incoherently to herself now, much to a confused Ardeth's surprise. "Then how do I know…" Silence.

"_Footprints in the sand_…"

Not only was she making no sense, but now she had switched to Ancient Egyptian, her train of thoughts possibly leading her somewhere dangerous. Ardeth frowned absently to himself as he realized he could actually understand what she was saying, though it was one of the most Ancient dialogues in the world and he had never been taught it in his life…well, not this one anyway.

The girl before him suddenly lurched forwards, forearms curling around her stomach and head lolling forwards, her chin knocking against her delicate collarbone.

"_Oh yes, I remember…_" she gurgled ominously in the Old Tongue, before she almost toppled right off the animal's back- trying desperately to ignore his screeching articulations and the fact that each little cell that his body was composed of burned with relentless flame, he threw out his arm in a crazy reflex that brought all the temporarily evaporated pain back with a vengeance- all the whiplashes and gashes that coiled like little blood-lustful snakes around his solid biceps ripping open even further, blood trickling down his skin--

He locked his arm around Eve's stomach with a badly suppressed groan of pain, and with a swing backwards, he steadied himself on the saddlebag, wincing as her full body weight smashed onto his chest; head rolling backwards like some grotesque string-less puppet and landing disgracefully on his shoulder.

"Evelyn!?" he shouted at her seemingly unresponsive form, setting her rather awkwardly onto his lap and holding her weak body to his firmly in fear that she might just topple over again. By now the eleven crimson-clad cultists and their 'exquisite' leader had whipped around on their camels and were shooting him odd glances. Leeu reached for the rope that hung from her saddle and pulled the captives' unwilling animal closer to her own, giving Ardeth an exasperated look.

"Oh, what _now_?" she groaned, before seeing Eve fully- one of the Medji's arm was curled around her stomach and was pressing her back to him, and his other hand was brushing away the stray hair from her face hurriedly, trying to see her expression.

She was looking upwards, and not moving one whim. Her eyes caught the reflects of the blazing Sun, and given the fact that the grand star shone straight in her face and she didn't even flinch, it must mean that she was somewhere far away…

"Okay, what the hell? Is she having one of her visions again?" Leeu asked with mild interest, infuriated that all this stuff was going on and she didn't have a single clue about what it meant. Ardeth looked at his friend's unmoving expression with worry shining in his obscure eyes. _The Egyptian Gods watch over the living in the day, and the dead at night. _Why would Eve be suffering a vision in the middle of the day, with the sun blazing and the souls of the dead unattended?

"I'm unsure," he said uneasily, not really wanting to say such things to his enemy, but seeing as he didn't want her to get all pissed at him… "She only has visions at night, and rare, brief ones during the day while she is still conscious."

"Great," Leeu sighed. She watched as Ardeth lay a hand over the woman's forehead, before immediately springing it away again, as if touching hot lead. "'she hot?"

The man shook his head disbelievingly, attempting to touch her again, this time letting his fingers caress her impossibly pale cheek. "She's as cold as death…"

**x**

Mirrors. All of them, everywhere, her appearance reflecting off them from all corners, glaring down at her with oppressing venom. Her snake-like eyes followed the curves of her slender, tanned body, taking in the honey-coloured skin of her curved hips, the dips of her waist and smooth lengths of nude, shapely legs. All she bore was two golden ankle bracelets and a single, precious golden snake that slid around her forearm in several loops, its glaring, seed-sized head wresting on the inside of her wrist.

Her unwavering gaze rested on the delicate skin of that very wrist, to then flick towards the lethal dagger that was clutched in her opposite hand. No, she wouldn't be as cowardly as to actually try again… even to draw so much of her blood repulsed her, though seeing so much of the liquid crimson ooze out of her body was hardly that shocking any more. It was more the concept that she disliked.

No…she had been through much, much more, and it was hardly the time to suddenly become squeamish about her own blood. How much countless times had she spilt the sacred Life-substance, and how many more times…?

She cared not. Setting her fierce noir eyes on her reflection's own, thickly kohl-rimmed ones, she raised the dagger in one bold gesture so that its glinting point was directed at her belly button.

For reasons unknown, she smirked at herself, then began her work.

The dagger taking a steady plunge, it embedded its rusted tip into her skin, deeper, a little deeper…till it drew blood, the shockingly scarlet rivulets trickling down the smooth, flawless skin of her stomach. With a shiver that she quickly morphed into some kind of perverted purr of sadistic pleasure, she lead the point of the dagger upwards across her skin, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain that jolted and racked through her nervous system- she continued her drawing, the point of the dagger coming slowly but surely to life as it cut curves and swirls out of the Princess's sacred blood, the skin practically parting before its predatory presence…

**x**

Though they seemed to have thought Eve was in a deathlike comatose state, Ardeth suddenly found himself gripping onto her in a vice grip as she broke down into a fit of crazy trembling, her white fingers extending like claws and her blunt nails scraping across her stomach, the thin filmy fabric of her nightie folding and snagging at her scratching digits.

"Eve! Stop it! Evelyn!!" Ardeth doubted she could hear him, but nevertheless he squeezed her against him, not caring the slightest that they were _closer_ than any lovers would allow, and he tried to grab her wrists together with his free hand to stop her mad antics. The cultists around them tried to fling utterly useless ideas at him, unable to do anything while sitting a little way away on their camels- stuff like 'Slap her the hell out of it!' which didn't really prove to be very useful.

**x**

The blood now running in full rivers down her legs and thighs was refreshing to her deranged, glittering black eyes- it washed over her skin like a parody of purging water, leaving gleaming little crystalline pearls of crimson on her body in its wake, dripping to the floor and forming an unholy pool around her. Soon, the drawing she was carving into her own flesh was coming into recognition- a stem arose from the area above her groin, to then bloom into some kind of strange flower around her navel—she closed her eyes in a flutter of her shadowed eyelids and let her hand draw of its own will… the drawing then blossomed further, and a magnificent lotus flower came into full view, its unfurling petals glittering in crimson beauty, outlines of its opened bud dripping with Royal blood.

A lotus flower. The elegant symbol of pure and simple _rebirth_. It should have been blue in colour- but Nefertiri knew what she was doing.

She knew what this meant.

And still…though her lover had warned her countless times…

She wanted this.

Her head tilting, she let out a groan that was not unlike the sounds of pleasure during passionate encounter…

She…wanted this…

The lotus flower seemed to revel in the blood that she was willingly scraping out of her own body, and like by sorcery, the bloodflow began to slow till it came to a stop, the rivers of life essence shimmering their scarlet entirety inside the trenches in her skin.

Nefertiri's body suddenly shook in one violent convulsion; she dropped the dagger with one metallic clutter, and staggered forward, hands lashing out to press against the human-sized mirror to support herself. Her hair tumbling around her face to veil her from view, she watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the centre of the cursed lotus flower began to shine a bizarre shade of gold across her belly button—

**x**

Eve threw her head back hard into Ardeth's shoulder and let rip a bloodcurdling scream, deafening the thirteen people around her; Ardeth tried hard not to wince, and finally managed to grip both her wrists in one hand. He brought her twisting hands up to his throat and, with his chin, squeezed them there tightly against his adam's apple (which turned out to be pretty painful- without even counting her poky fingers scratching at his bearded chin and cheeks) and then reached down to her stomach with his newly free hand.

"Niy, niy, NIY!" she yelled incoherently right into his ear, and her hands writhed and recoiled, trying to get free- but Leeu finally made a lunge forwards, leading her camel closer to them and snatching the woman's hands, having to embarrassingly stretch her arm across Ardeth's neck. It seemed there was a wild entanglement of arms and hands on only one poor little camel, and Ardeth hardly had the time to say any thanks; he took the opportunity that Leeu's camel stood so close to theirs to take a swipe at her scabbard…

Grabbing the sword after the third try, he twirled it around his fingers hurriedly to get it pointing downwards, and carefully tore the area of Eve's nightie that covered her stomach.

Tearing away the rest of the fabric, his eyes looked down at her stomach.

He gasped.

**x**

Nefertiri slumped to the floor, gasping as if in labour. Her hair matted to her forehead with sweat, and she gasped for air as the lotus flower born from blood began to dissipate, not leaving any trace on her now smooth skin- it dissipated into the thick air, whipping around itself like a vengeance-seeking little scarlet wisp, and formed once again a lotus bloom, this time in midair- gazing at it with a petrified stare, Nefertiri gingerly fingered her now flawless belly, and watched as the hovering wisp of blood dissolved with a surreal whisper and left her.

Finally alone.

…she smiled… like a sick child…

**x**

Evelyn was smiling. She was smiling up to the nonexistent clouds, eyes glazed over, and her trembling fit had finally ended. Drawing his incredulous stare from the gruesome state of her stomach, Ardeth noticed this blatant change in her behavior- looking up at her face that rested against his shoulder, he was almost knocked off the camel in surprise.

She looked up at him, smiling…like some sick child…

"_We're almost there.._" she gurgled in Ancient Egyptian, before slumping against him, her eyes drawing shut and her limbs completely lifeless.

* * *

a&n: La lala ! Eve's so OOC! Oh but, let's just pretend that she's capable of rattling out a huge whine like that, hm?  
Oh, and thanks alot to Ann, lovely anonymous reviewer that I forgot to thank! -blows a kiss-  
Anyhoo, that last scene seems to confuse a good many people- nope, Nefer's not trying to make herself pregnant. She's carving a lotus flower- the ultimate symbol of rebirth- into her skin. Basically, she's calling on the God's power to take this sacrifice- her blood- and grant her a reincarnation, in milleniums to come. Make sense now? ;) Ask me if you still have questions, I won't bite! 


	13. Tormented Lust

a&n: Whoo! 10,000 words, and practically all of it is gore/explicit scenes. ;) You've been warned!

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter thirteen  
_Tormented Lust_**

**xxx**

**Chaos**

The proud march of the million minute sisters of the sun had finally come to its end, and they dragged down the infinite black velvet of the night sky with their silent annihilation. As the tiny pinpricks of everlasting sparkles of light graciously obeyed to the will of their glorious brother, they let the untainted light blue hue of the morning skies overtake their reign, and remained imprisoned behind its endless sapphire splendor. They would lie dormant, until the Sun would sink into the bowels of the Underworld once again, surrendering them the Heavens and the guard of Egypt's people.

Blessed by a cool morning, the market was completely black with people; like a swarm of buzzing locusts, merchants and random citizens bustled past each other, muttering hellos or discussing prices, yelling to whomever would have the decency to listen about their fine products, tugging horses and completely crazy, barking dogs who wriggled relentlessly against their owners grips to break free and take an eager sniff at all the by-passers and the delicious food and ointments they carried.

One of these dogs, a particularly ugly flea-bitten little grey creature, was behaving much more naughtily than his companions, sprinting on the spot desperately with his lanky legs and scratching up showers of sand. He yelped haplessly at the shuffling feet that were padding across the sand all around him, mercilessly chucking dollops of sand into his watery eyes and now-dry little pearl-black nose. His acute vision pinpointed a certain pair of cheap sandaled feet scurrying in much more of a hurry than the others, and irremovable curiosity immediately clamped around his small brain- instantly the small animal gave a shrill bark and a sharp tug against his leash, his owner giving a loud curse as the thin strip of material slipped from his grip- in complete ecstasy, the little dog eagerly galloped towards the sprinting pair of feet, plain wonder pushing him on as he clumsily dodged all the wandering feet and shining, tanned calves.

Finally breaking into a blissful open space, the frail, stick-insect like dog gave a much more powerful bark than his currently weak appearance would tend to have people think as his padded paws skimmed the sand, circling the man who was running away from the crowd.

Barking still and slightly whining in the scorching heat, the dog leapt around the man's legs, playfully biting at his short white loincloth which was his only garment. There was a smile of pure mirth etched across the human's face, and his deep black eyes glittered with emotion, creased at the edges with joy. He looked down at the skitterish animal, and usually he would just carelessly shoo the damn thing away with a distasteful frown, but this time he actually bent over to scoop the fiddly creature into his arms, laughing joyously. As if wanting to join in with the over-joyed human's laughter, the little dog barked and squealed, not exactly relishing the fact that he was being held like a baby in the most uncomfortable of positions.

"What are you doing around here, little dog?" the man asked him, sounding rather stupid since he knew the animal would certainly not open that long snout and answer him in the Egyptian tongue. "Have you not heard? This is a time for rejoicing; not wandering around vainly in markets. Today Khepri gives one new soul to our blessed kingdom!! My little nephew!!" The man paused in his glowing emotional speech, and his keen sprinting slowed to a bouncy jog, head snapping right to left as if he was searching for something. Or some_one_. His brother had promised to come with him and celebrate the birth of their beloved sister's child- since both of them were about to become uncles, they could not let this chance pass them by, not even if they were both incredibly busy and hardly had the time to come earlier to encourage this 'Khepri'.

Indeed understanding nothing of the human's words, the dog contented himself with cocking his head to one side, almond-shaped eyes peering oddly at the man's beaming face, and then he resumed his dry tongue-lapping at the thick atmosphere, trying to drag precious air into his tiny lungs.

Finally, the strange man let out an exclamation and threw both arms out to greet another man, who was rushing out of the marketplace and up to them both; with a helpless yelp of surprise, the poor little dog found himself suddenly sitting on absolutely nothing and he crumpled to the sands, letting out an irritated bark.

"Manu!!" cried the coming man, equally extending his arms, his thin lips stretched from ear to ear in an impossibly gleeful smile. In one leap the laughing man tackled his brother in a huge bear hug, dying in the midst of peel upon peel of tearful laughter that erupted from his mouth. The two men embraced each other tightly, as if both of them willed time to stop and hover around the marketplace in this unique moment.

"Mensah, can you possibly believe our luck??" this 'Manu' uttered into his sibling's hair as happily as one's heart could sound before exploding in glinting shards of sheer joy.

"I can't brother, I simply can't. Isn't it wonderful!" Both men were sounding pretty simple-minded, lost in their own little world of brotherly love and the thought of whatever other happy event they were about to attend to. Barking up at them as if to join in with their exclamations, the dog demanded attention after being carelessly dropped and left out- but the two men ignored him, each slapping the other's back and uttering more senseless comments in their tongue. Mildly accusing that 'Mensah' for leaving him out, the animal decided to leave them be and go pester someone else instead.

After a few more minutes of mindless rejoicing, the brothers pulled apart- and Mensah's piercing eyes darted around the empty space behind the man in front of him.

"Tell me brother, where is Siti? I thought she was coming with you or something. She _is_ attending our nephew's birth, is she not?" Mensah asked a little worriedly, holding Manu by the older man's bulging biceps.

Manu's unstoppable laughter continued with an even bolder consistency, and he had to lean his head back to refrain from stumbling.  
"My dear Mensah, I'm afraid you seem to have been away from civilization for much too long. Siti lives with her lover now, do you not know? In this very city! She's practically a neighbour of our Khepri. You _have_ met the man, haven't you?" Manu let his brother know as the two of them began their brisk walk down to their sister's hut. They passed dozens of mud- or limestone-bricked huts, and they casually greeted any busy wanderer they happened to pass by, too sunk in their good mood to let the frowns of the unknown people drag their spirits down.

"I'm afraid I haven't. So he'll be assisting the birth too?" Mensah sounded excited beyond the word's actual meaning. "This is perfect! …By the Gods, why are we still walking?! We'll have missed it if we continue on such a sluggish pace, my brother!"

The men broke into a run once again, bursting with anticipation to see their sister after so many long years of silence. When they arrived in the very street, sweating and trying to squeeze remnants of laughter in between their heavy pants, who were they to crash into but Siti and her lover, who were equally on their way to the hut.

The four buzzing people greeted each other with kisses and firm hand shakes, introductions were made, riddled with toothy smiles and excited gazes. Their sister's husband –Ubaid- was a broad, muscly man who, with his enormous biceps and shapely pectoral muscles, looked as though he could've very well built the grand Pyramids by himself- but behind his powerful appearance hid an emotional soul, glowing with pride behind those smiling eyes. The only one who seemed to still bear a shred of disappointment was Siti- her radiant face positively shone with glee, but her telltale eyes of the most unusual, beautiful clear-blue colour told otherwise.

"What's bugging you, darling?" Manu said jokily, flumping an arm around his sister's arm as the foursome continued their hasty march towards the hut. Mensah entertained Ubaid with his hyper-active antics, and Siti shot both the men an envious glance.

"Oh, it's just," she started, somewhat losing a bit of the ambiance and flicking her crystalline gaze to her questioning brother's. "I don't know. I kind of wish our cousin could attend to the birth too…"

"Ah," stated Manu, a little slither of bewilderment creeping in on his tone of voice. Of all the four siblings, it had been Siti that had taken their cousin's- Imhotep, High Priest of the Pharaoh himself- death the hardest. Before Imhotep had begun his intense training for becoming first of all a simple ritual priest, Siti and himself had had such a tight bond that it seemed the Gods themselves couldn't possibly separate them- they continued to communicate regardless of their brutal separation, sending lengths and lengths of scribbled-on parchment, keeping up to date with each other's news as often as they could.

Then came a short period of silence from the High Priest's part- devastated, Siti carried on sending him endless rolls of parchments, thinking that his high status had finally got to him and inflated his head so much that the little space she had occupied had dissipated… Manu had been the one to come running for moral support, since before his own job, they had lived almost next to each other. She had ranted on forever at how she couldn't believe him, how could he suddenly regard her as the insignificant little slip of a merchant girl that she was like all the important people, and was this really the end of their lifelong, unbreakable bond?

She often cried herself to sleep on those nights, and lost hope for ever getting a reply from her beloved cousin. But then, one day when she had almost, _almost_ managed to forget him and continue on the seemingly vain train of life, he sent her a letter. A very, now what was the word…_disturbing_ letter, one that talked of desperation, and forbidden love for one of the Pharaoh's glorified concubines… Siti's depression took a swift meander and morphed into a wave of terror. She knew that if Imhotep dared to have such relations, then it was not only his heart that was put a stake, but his head too. When it was publicly announced in the poorer parts of Thebes that he had tripped and killed himself, or nonsense like that, Siti was the only one to know it was not because of a simple clumsy action that her cherished cousin was gone. It had been a bitter blow for her poor, fragile mind, and she had taken it very painfully indeed- for weeks she had refused to speak to anyone, and she still refrained from telling anyone, even family members, about the real reason behind Imhotep's death.

Fortunately her adorable siblings had managed to drag her out of her deeply depressed state of mind, after fearing that she might be irrecoverable for a little while. Now, it had been about three months after Imhotep's death, and the woman was slowly recovering, with the help of a newly found lover in addition. Things were looking up at last, and what with Khepri's pregnancy, it seemed that the Gods were smiling upon them once again.

"I'm sure that with all the work he had, he wouldn't have been able to come anyways," Manu reasoned, flinging out a hand to suggest uncertainty. "And besides, he's still there, right? He's looking down at us from where he's been given eternal rest, and I'll bet the Gods that he's smiling. You mustn't fret for him any longer, beloved sister, haven't I told you that enough times?" He gave the small woman a little shake with the arm that he had locked around her shoulders, and she squealed playfully in protest.

"Alright, alright," She looked up at her brother, adoration shining in those limitless sky-blue depths. "Oh, Manu. If I say that I love you, you promise you won't scowl and tell me to stop it?"

Manu laughed at his younger sister. "Of course! I promise. When have I ever-?"

This time it was Siti's turn to grin at him, amused by his tactless words. "You always say that. I love you, big brother." Melting under her gaze, Manu tiredly returned her smile.

"As do I, Siti. Now can we _please_ get a move on? While we're talking Khepri's probably doing all the work by herself!" Without further ado, the foursome broke into an impatient jog and finally arrived at the elegant, stout limestone hut where Khepri and her husband currently lived. And, of course, the modest little house awaited a third inhabitant, whose arrival could be anytime now…

The foursome burst in, trying to wedge themselves into the tiny rectangular doorway to get to see their sister first.

What they did see, though, set ablaze the very essence of horror.

Blood. Blood, everywhere- lurking on the walls, splashed across the floors, dripping disgustingly from the edge of the table. Sitting on a worn chair in front of the wooden quadruped furniture was Khepri's husband, the sticky crimson ooze matting his long strands of dirty black hair, staining his shaking hands, clotting around the rips in his dull linen clothing in a shock of stark, gruesome colour.

The foursome's completely terrorized eyes traveled lower, to come and lay upon what the man was cradling in his two shaking hands.

Siti's hands flew to her mouth- her already soaked eyes began to dangerously overflow and before she could release the despairing howl from her throat, Manu gathered her into his arms and hurriedly pressed her face into his chest to hide the disgusting scene from her petrified eyes. Mensah had gripped his brother's shoulder, and his grip tightened so hard that he was sure he would pull out a chunk of the muscular flesh- and Ubaid just stared in utter horror.

The sitting man bathed in blood looked down at the little pink object completely smudged in red and brown slithers. His shoulders were shaking so hard, and glinting tears dropped down from his bowed head seemingly to no end.

"A boy," came the tight whisper from the man's constricted throat.

Siti let out a heart-wrenching sob into her brother's chest, hands balling into fists.

"Just a…just a slip of a boy…almost a boy…almost…" the man spoke in a hushed, trembling voice. "Almost…my son…"

No one dared utter a single word.

And then Siti spun around, fighting her brother's tight hold and fiercely rounding on the man, pushing away the grabs that Manu made at her.

"And what of Khepri?" she spoke in a dangerously calm, though quavering voice. "What of my sister?"

A moment of silence.

Sweet, blessed silence, sliced by the shaking sobs of the not-quite-father of the murdered newborn, of the little bit of blood-covered flesh that could've once been the start of a man's life.

And then- "KHEPRI?! KHEPRI, WHERE ARE YOU!?!" Siti was shrieking her sister's name at the top of her voice, lungs exploding, throat abused till it was raw and as pink as the baby's premature, gash-strewn skin.

She spun on herself in the middle of the room, screaming for her sister, running to the walls and tearing at the fluttering, translucent curtains that guarded the entrance to the bedrooms.

She entered the parent's bedroom. And she screamed.

She screamed, hands clamped around her wide mouth as if she was trying to refrain herself but she couldn't help it- her bare feet were slipping in a pool of blood, and she tried frantically to run away from the sight of her sister's body laid out on the bed in most undignified of positions, stomach viciously sliced and gaping open like a deep, gurgling pit of blood and horrors beyond description- but the poor woman slid in the sticky mat of scarlet liquid and stumbled over, cracking her head on the side of the bed.

The three still sane (but for how long?) men rushed over to help her up- but only Manu managed to kneel down by the bed and attend to the poor, baffled soul. The two others couldn't bear the thought of even coming close to the bed. They stared at the corpse of what had once been one of the most beautiful women that they had known- the sister that they had loved, the one person who seemed to be worthy of eternity… now she lay there, stripped of her pride and of her skin, _and of her child_. Whatever could the demons have sent to fulfill this ungodly task? The fetus had been ripped carelessly from her own uterus, shamelessly, leaving her completely and horridly _sliced wide open. _

"Siti!" cried Manu to his bawling sister, steadying her trembling form on her feet- but then thinking otherwise, since the floor was…in such a state… and he carried the poor girl out of the room in his arms, just about as horrified as she was but being strong enough to dissimulate it behind a blank face.

Mensah respectfully tugged the linen covers over his beloved sister's broken form, turning away sharply before he had the chance to see the dull colour of the sheet begin to gain patches of a dyed dark scarlet hue- Ubaid did likewise, almost running out of the room, having just realized that the poignant, stinging smell of blood was beginning to smog around his nostrils unbearably. The two men rushed out of the room, hands over the mouths and noses, eyes narrowed to halt the flow of tears that threatened to overtake them.

Manu had taken Siti outside- unsure of what the effect might have, if it would calm her –and he came back inside, eyes riveted on the sitting man's hunched form. Both brothers rounded on the poor almost-father whilst Ubaid rushed outdoors to tend to his nerve-racked fiancée.

"I do not wish to pry, or stir the knife in the wound, kind sir," Mensah managed to say, silently applauding himself for sounding so confident and collected. "But if you are the culprit of this-this _heinous_ crime, would you please admit to it and let us-"

"Kill you and strip your flesh like you did poor Khepri, you intolerable little SON OF-" Manu interrupted fiercely, his words bearing an almost beastly desire for vengeance- but his younger brother stopped him hastily, extending an arm before him.

"I…" The shaking man got to his feet, stumbling slightly in shock and keeping a tight hold on what could've been his son. "I swear to the Gods, this wasn't me. It wasn't my fault. Do you honestly believe that I would murder my wife and only child?"

"Then WHO WAS IT!?" shouted Manu, his small gauge of patience and sanity almost exploding; Mensah tried vainly to show him moral support by laying a hand on his shoulder, but he angrily shrugged it off.

For the first time this dreadful morning, the husband looked up at them through his dark, bloody strands of messy hair and challenged them with his torn gaze. They were almost taken aback by the sheer intensity of pain that lurked beneath that sombre regard- black as the eyes of Anubis, the man seemed to will them not to ask him, unless their desire was to crudely rip at his heart even more.

"Well? SPEAK, murderer!" Manu yelled the order, but the man remained completely unruffled.

"She…" He hung his head, as if he could no longer take the state of the room around him. "I can't tell you."

With a cry of pure rage, Manu tore away from his brother and lunged at the man, almost barging right into him. He held the husband by the flimsy collar of his open linen shirt, not caring that what should've been his nephew was being pressed gruesomely against his bare stomach. "Oh yes you can. You will, believe me. Tell us right now, or you're DEAD, man,"

"Manu!" His younger brother called in a threatening voice- and to their surprise the answer came much earlier than expected.  
"If …you want to know," whispered the man, absolutely petrified for a reason that the two brothers missed out on. "..She's right behind you."

They hadn't had the time to hear Siti's muffled scream for outside.  
They hadn't had the time to scream, either.

**x**

Somewhere in the infinite blackness of the beyond, Ptah withdrew from the sights and smiled sadistically to himself, relishing the soft caress of the fingers of darkness on his skin. All of this violence just for the sake of that little slip of a man, small as a lotus bud yet never to blossom, and dead to the world.

The obscure God did not know the meaning of happiness, and rejoicing was equally alien to him- but his lips curled into an inhumane smile. A parody of human joy. A sick expression indeed.

"This unnamed child…" His incomprehensible growl of a voice emerged from his throat as he proclaimed to the obscurity; "It shall be called _Chaos.._."

**xxx**

**Akila**

Her vision had long ago left her old eyes, and she could feel the end arriving whenever her old bones creaked, or when she fell into deep sleep with an innocent smile on her face, somehow thinking that the morning would never again arise and bless her old unseeing eyes with its warm rays. Sometimes, what with all the respectful visitors who came to just look down at her and gape at her impossibly old age- 54, to the day – offering to help with the chores of the house if she ever needed to feel more comfortable, she just wished to be left alone and in peace. She very well deserved it, did she not, after all those years of hard work, carefully raising her numerous children and paying respects to the Gods- especially Osiris- every single day to be sure that when they would let her sink into their marvelous world, she would be accepted.

She awoke one morning, once again heaving a small sigh of disappointment as the noise and bustle of the outdoors told her that she was still in the human world. Another day laying down in this bed, listening to nothingness, staring at a never ending blackness… what fun the day seemed to hold.

It was then that she felt a presence at her bedside. Not all that surprised, she lifted a slightly shaking hand from the straw mattress as a greeting.

"Good morning, stranger." The aged woman spoke in quiet voice cracked with oldness. She could sense the person shift, and the burning sensation of eyes piercing straight through her own. "Have you been there long? I'm sorry, I can't offer you anything except my presence…"

"Understandable," a sly, female voice spoke, and the way her tone was completely unwavering betrayed the fact that she was holding a certain something back. An emotion, perhaps…? "Your presence will do just fine, old woman."

"Well, what can I do for you my dear?" the Elder said politely, straining her tired lips into a smile. "We can start by names if you like. Mine is Akila," She was so used to this, and it was becoming irritating to parrot her own words nearly every day.

Surprisingly, the stranger stayed silent. As if she didn't want to reveal her identity.

Well, that was fine with her, too. Akila suppressed a sigh of exasperation and, refusing to just be something to stare at like vulgar furniture, she decided to stimulate some kind of conversation.  
"What brings you to these poor parts of town? A young lady like yourself shouldn't be sitting around talking with old ladies." She said in a motherly tone, speaking so softly like she didn't want to scare anyone off.

"And what _should_ a young lady like myself be doing, then?" the stranger asked, her voice still infuriatingly deprived of any emotion.

"Well, it certainly has been a while since I ever was one, and the memories are having a hard time coming back," Hohoho. "I don't know. Are you married, young one?"

"Wh-" The stranger bit back her words. "Not yet. …Were you ever married?"

Akila slightly shifted her head on her flimsy cushion, feeling a little uncomfortable as always when talking about her late husband. It had been…oh, how many years now… but still, she had to face up to it. Soon they would be reunited… yes, that thought always cheered her up. Very soon, if she was lucky.

"I was. To the most honorable man…" She was cut short by a badly suppressed snort coming from the stranger, hearing her choice of words. A little hurt, she demanded to know what was funny. "Men _can_ be honorable, you know."

"I never said I doubted it."

"Then why do you find the word 'honorable' amusing?"

"I…don't know…" That woman seemed to be everything but sincere. Just when an infuriated Akila was about to jump to her husband's defense, the mysterious woman spoke up again. "I just seem to find the word 'dishonorable' that much more appealing."

Akila relaxed a little. "Yes, well, men can come in all different flavours."

"Like your son, for example." The old woman started violently, and if her eyes still had the capacity of vision she would've been staring incredulously at the stranger. How in the world did-??

"My dear," she began in a voice shaking with strained anticipation. "Were you a priest? How do you know my son? Is he still doing well? Please, tell me everything." She heard the ruffle of clothes as the younger woman shifted slightly, and the soft clink of metallic jewellery. Hm… maybe this woman was of noble birth? She reminded herself to be extra respective, in that case.

There was a small, awkward silence, as though the genteel lady was picking her words very carefully.  
"Have you not heard of what your son has become, old woman?" the question was blurted out, and Akila had to struggle not to seem offended. The stranger couldn't have known about her relationship with her son, could she? It wasn't her fault for asking such questions, even though Akila now wished that she wasn't subjected to this. It was painful to dig up her memories, to say the least.

"I…haven't. Our relationship was a little…shall we say, strenuous. We were never really close, if you were imagining a mother-son relationship. It was when he became priest that he sliced off any sort of contact that we had. Of course I tried to keep in touch with him, send him letters of encouragement, but I doubt he even had the decency to read them." The old woman sighed, sounding so tired that she could've been twice her age at that moment.

"That's very unsurprising of him." The stranger uttered with a black-humoured laugh. Jumping to the meaning of her words, Akila reached for her with a wrinkled hand, groping at air pitifully.

"You knew him well?" she asked desperately, memories of a cherished maternity beginning to make surface.

"If you want information about him, I could tell you everything I know. But I didn't know him intimately, if you see what I mean." There was a somewhat harsh edge to her words. Akila nodded her on, keen to finally find out where her son had got to.

"He became the High Priest of the Pharaoh, and he was given a sacred place to watch over- Hamunaptra, City of the Dead." Akila's lips curled into an awed smiled, silently rejoicing for her son's success. What a responsibility for the clumsy, forgetful boy that she had once known!

"He fell in _love_," This statement was said with such venom that Akila wondered whether the stranger simply hated the concept, or was actually jealous. Had there been a story between the two? With the younger woman's apparent mysterious side, Akila was probably never going to have time to dig it up. "With none other than one of m- the Pharaoh's concubines."

If her articulations had not been gnawed by the vicious little demons of arthritis, her hands would've flown to her mouth- she was happy that her son had found love, of course she was, but there was a major down side to it too. How could he even consider such a thing, stealing from someone else's lovers? But, as she knew so well, love rendered a person blind. She contented herself with smiling, ignoring her worried senses. He couldn't have gotten himself caught- the boy that she had known was as discreet as any man could be.

As if by some crude coincidence, the stranger's words contradicted her thoughts almost instantly.

"Pharaoh caught them both one night, however. Since they bore a profound hatred for the man, they murdered him together- and then when they were about to be found out by the Medjai, Anck-su-Namun killed herself to guard your son's cowardly escapade," hissed the woman at her right. Akila could do nothing except gasp- her mind reeling, she cursed herself for her lack of vision, since she would've given anything to see the stranger's expression at that precise moment.

"Of course, the Medjai caught up with him. And Queen Nefertiri ordered him to be afflicted by the curse of the Hom-Dai… His priests were stripped of their organs while still alive, and buried into sarcophagi, whilst he had his tongue ripped out, was bandaged up while still alive and stuffed into a scarab-filled sarcophagus, where he is still being slowly digested and…"

"Stop, stop it!" Akila cried in her cracked voice as loudly as she possibly could, making herself wheeze. How dare the stranger just pour this all out to her face!? This was her son they were talking about, Gods damn it! How could someone say these horrors to a mother, without thinking that it could _possibly_ threaten to tear at her fragile heart? "Why are you speaking of such things?!"  
"Because that is the way of the Gods. Because that is reality, however cruel it may be." Akila felt the air churn as the stranger drew closer to her- she could smell a distant aroma of rich flowers, and she felt strands of silky, well-kempt hair brush against her face.

_This woman is indeed royalty._ But she didn't care right then- her dull eyes were brimming with tears, and her throat had suddenly recalled how to burn with sorrow.

"Your son killed a divinity. Would you sincerely believe that he would walk away unharmed?" Deadly poison dripped from those hateful words. Who _was_ that woman?

"How do you know all of this?" Akila inquired, very much alarmed. The sweet scent of perfume faded, and the stranger drew back.

"That is not of your concern."

The old woman sucked in breath through her nostrils. She had suddenly realized something- perhaps she was jumping to conclusions, but she wanted to be sure.

"So…so, the Queen ordered my son to be put to the Hom-Dai curse," she recapitulated, trying to prevent the prickling tears from leaking out of her blind eyes.

"She did," Ears sharpened, Akila silently struggled to decipher a certain emotion from those two small words. It was there all right- a badly suppressed arrogance. Some kind of sick joy.

"When she made that decision, did the Queen know that my son had a family? That he had siblings who loved him, and that all of his priests were his closest friends?" Akila spoke, struggling not to sound harsh.

There was a snort. "I'm sure she did."

"The Queen has family too. I wonder how she could've been so ignorant as to kill the man and let the hearts of his family die."

A sharp intake of breath. "You should not speak of the Queen this way."

"Not at all my dear, all I'm trying to say is that perhaps the Queen does not feel the same kind of love from her own family. Perhaps that's why she didn't feel remorse when she ripped my son from his own siblings." Akila tried to sound respectful, though it proved to be hard.

"You know nothing. The Queen watched her own father be murdered before her very eyes, and-" The words were full to burst with fury; but the old woman seemed immune.

"Oh yes? And what, pray tell, is the difference between watching your father die and watching a whole group of people that could be your brothers being slit open and separated from their own organs like vulgar animals?"

Silence.

"…There _is_ a difference." Akila shook her head softly, and normally when she would've felt fear in front of this being, now she just felt pity. She knew who the stranger was, yet she did not betray herself- nor did she treat her with more respect than she deserved. There had been a time when she, too, had been trapped in a storm of emotions ever spiraling downwards, unable to see the light- but sadly it seemed that this woman's journey had only just begun.

"All that my son sought was love, my dear."

"All that the Queen sought was love, too."

She had a gnawing feeling that this would take a while. "Perhaps. And perhaps that she resented my son because, like you said, she sought the love that he owned?"

"What love? This discussion is senseless, woman. You refuse to change the image that you've made of your son. You hold him in a much too high esteem." She sounded more than furious- but Akila was still very calm, very controlled. "Ah, but I understand your motives, old woman; you see, my l- friend once told me that the soul has illusions like a bird has wings- it's what sustains it. "

"Your friend is very wise to see through you, my Queen." Akila commented silkily, no slyness in her voice, no tone that could reflect as being offensive. She knew why the Queen had come here, to her modest little bedside, why She had entered her modest little life. Life which, she let herself imagine, was about end very soon indeed.

"You are very confident, old woman," The stranger spoke calmly, and suddenly there seemed to be some kind of hissing accompaniment to her voice- for a blind moment Akila actually thought that it was the Queen hissing her discontent, but then she realized a snake had been drawn out from somewhere and was coiling around the younger woman's hands.

"Sometimes too much, yes, I think. But my Queen, what good would it do to kill me and avenge your father's death? I am guessing that you have already sent most of my family away on their endless journey to the other world…" For some strange reason, Akila did not feel any remorse, nor did she feel any sadness for her departed ones. She only felt a deep pity for this desperate woman, whatever façade she might put on, and knew that her own life was about to be 'sent' too- though the Queen might not know, silently she rejoiced. Finally, she was going back to her beloved family, and they were going to be numerous to greet her.

"Yes, and you seem awfully calm about it." It sounded like the stranger's words could not be otherwise than harsh and offending. Akila had had a very long life, resulting in her learning to extend her gauge of patience to a very long length indeed.

"That is because, when I'm gone, I will have nothing to regret. I wonder, though, how your life will pursue after killing all of Imhotep's family. Will you truly have a purpose? I wonder…" Though the words were simple, the wise old woman knew that they could either pass by or sink deep into the stranger's mind. What with Nefertiri being so sensitive to her words, she thought the latter.

"Then continue wondering. I had a purpose before his treason. I will have a purpose afterwards." The stranger spat indignantly, and Akila felt something cold suddenly slither across the bed where her wrinkled feet lay- the little demon penetrated her covers, and she felt its smooth, sleek body slide up her leg, a menacing hiss accompanying its treacherous caresses.

She shivered. _There's no reason to be scared. The end is coming- no reason to fret_.

"Really? And what was this reason?" Akila demanded, trying so hard to ignore the silken strokes of the snake curling around her thigh, and then slithering up her concave stomach.

"Do you know what an asp's bite can do to your system, hag?" the stranger spoke, a smile seeming to render her voice perversely amused- ignoring Akila's prying question, the old woman heard the ruffle of fabric as she stood up from where she'd been sitting by her bedside.

_Asp? An _asp Akila's thoughts began to jumble in a helpless swirl of panic, and try as she might to gather her courage, she found herself recalling the way one of her youngest sons had perished by the bite of those infamous, beautiful creatures. She had discovered him as swelled as an impregnated elephant, with horrendous violet patches marring his skin, soaked in his own urine and drool and whatever else that she couldn't bear to identify.

He had been incurable. And there existed no cure for a bite of the sort even if one was directly attended to a second after being bitten.

"Why the silence, old woman? I thought all you awaited was the end of your life," spoke the Queen in a grand voice, as if struggling to maintain her status after the mental assault that this hag had openly fired at her. "I suppose you simply wanted to slip away in your sleep, and then have your immaculate body dried under the sun? Well, the Gods won't find your body very pleasant after the hours it will take for you to die, will they?"

If Akila would've screamed, all that would've escaped her dry, wrinkled throat was a panicked wheeze of some sort. How _dare_ the Queen herself willingly oblige one of her so-called 'Daughters' to die in such terrible pain!?

There was no time to even ask the Queen why she had made this sick decision- in a swift, painful sting, Akila felt something pierce through her skin.

This was it. As of now, her life would undertake the long and unimaginably painful spiral of death- and she could pretty much forget the Afterlife.

Her miserable trail of thoughts was snapped abruptly as a pool of acid seemed to gather and leak all around the snake's bite- gushing beneath her skin, she could feel the poison plunge into her bloodlines and infect her very life substance—groaning since even under the assault of such sheer pain she would _not_ give the Queen satisfaction of hearing her scream. She would NOT!

There were arrows of flame soaring across her arm, slicing through her veins, her flesh, and for a moment she truly believed it had been placed in the heart of a blazing furnace and was crumbling right off- but then as she clamped down hard on her cheeks till she felt the blood trickle around her teeth, streaming down her tongue and drip into her throat to stop herself from letting rip a scream of agony, she felt the scent of her own putrid blood begin to enshroud her senses…her muscles relaxed.. the pain became less real, less poignantly stinging- and for a moment it felt as though her arm had been pulled out of the scorching fire and into dunked into lukewarm water.

Oh, the bliss… she giddily savoured this new peace, as though she had lived a lifetime of suffering and she was finally tasting a little bit of paradise.

…but what was this? Her skin felt, as distant as it was, a little sore… she still stared into a universe of darkness, but she could feel some kind of strange, shapeless _thing_ forming over the tender inside of her elbow… no matter, she was soaring in silent, cloudy bliss, and there was no way she wanted to stop…why should she? She was so…comfortable… Her throat felt tight. Sensations bubbled in her chest, and she suddenly felt very much obstructed by something- her windpipe seemed to constrict, and she found herself so, _so_ thirsty…but at the same time, she could feel the scraps that she had eaten for dinner last night start to climb in her esophagus. She gagged horribly, wanting so badly to soothe herself with a precipitant cascade of fresh water- she was going to be sick- _water_- ugh her stomach uggh—

Then the pain came back with a vengeance, and she tumbled hopelessly into her own private Hell.

She didn't care that the Queen herself was probably standing there, smirking with glee as she watched her enemy disintegrate inwardly and gurgle up the disgusting contents of her stomach- there had been no joy in feeling her relax, since now the poor woman shrieked in terrorized pain as she felt her muscles give way to the virus, its little centipede acolytes crawling throughout her body leaving trails of poison grime and sludge and acid and- she _screamed _and _SCREAMED_…

Everything was pouring out of her- the smell of it all prickled and teased at her nostrils, and it smelled like the rotten innards of a long-dead animal- she wanted to run away, to tear out of her own body but she couldn't, and she shook her head vainly from to side as if just the gesture could wipe away the pain, but it only resulted in her nausea to come tumbling like tsunamis of illness- her face was soaked with tears and sores that she praised the Gods she could not see, and she steadily drowned a little more into the agony and the stink with every second that passed…

The last thing that she recalled her mind doing was cursing the Queen to the God's themselves, if it had not already been effectuated- but in doing so, she failed to notice that the accursed woman had left her bedside since what seemed like a very long time- that Nefertiri had not had the courage to witness the horrors that she herself caused. She had left the hut just as the snake performed its bite, and was gone long before the venom's effect had taken over.

Akila did not have time ponder this.

…it was a good handful of hours later when the world of the Living took pity on her anguished screams, and finally released her.

**xxx**

There had been a time when the explosions of gold and colour, and the sheer glory that the immense palace emanated, awed her till she felt dizzy in the midst of such splendor. When she was little, she would stop by every wall she passed to poke a stubby finger at the carvings and scrape her gnawed nails across the curves and fine lines of the hieroglyphs. The figures frozen in eternity expressed scenes of rejoice and victory- one would feel self-confident and successful just by walking past such masterpieces.

This time Nefertiri hid her face beneath the sanctuary of her shimmering cloak's hood. She couldn't look up at the cataclysmic battle scenes around her where a single man would stand his ground in a chariot with a pair of beautiful horses, bending back an arrow that was destined to pass through a million of the enemies' hearts. She couldn't allow her eyes to skim the clever, psychological proverbs that were engraved in the sacred stone- for she would become aware that she completely ignored their meaning, their true message.

Let the others pass by these walls and feel glorious. She just felt like tearing the whole palace down and weeping; for the first time, the bubble in which she had carefully encaged the muddle of intense emotions was on the brink of bursting.

To be emotional is to be weak. And there was no way she could allow herself to break down now. She was strong, wasn't she? She had to fulfill her goal!

But right now, what did it mean to fulfill anything when she herself was empty? Was it because of that ignorant old hag that she felt torn, so utterly at a loss with herself?

She was tired of feeling vengeful. She was tired of holding grudges like this. Every single night she was drained of her energy- every night since 5 months ago, when she had begun this…elimination mission.

5 months of resistance- to pitifully break down now, so near to the goal, so very nearly finished with that horrendous bloodline.

The light breezes whispering through the corridors spoke in hushed tones to her delicate ears; what? What horrendous bloodline? What have those poor people done to you except simply _exist_?

She scolded her mind's voice, just wanting to collapse and sleep throughout the next ageless cycles of the Sun god. The only remedy she had come up with for the mind was rest- and rest she would have. But before that… time to get rid of the stains that marred her hands and the soles of her bare feet. It crusted around her like rust, drying on her skin and occasionally pinching her softly, like sad reminders of the lives they once pumped into the bodies she had murdered.

Nefertiri shook her head. _Now is not the time to think. _She had to keep a cool head, if she was to go through this night.

She swerved into the doorway that led to her chambers, and headed almost directly for the integrated bathroom- had she not noticed the human lying sprawled out over her bed. A wave of panic betraying her for a few seconds, she tried to hide her hands and forearms into the long golden sleeves of her cloak, hurrying into the small room through the veiled doorway. The curtain unfurled graciously around her, as if embracing her into its bowels. She thanked the Gods that whoever it was hadn't seen the state of her feet.

"I saw you, you know." The deep, masculine voice was bearing an amused grin to her ears. She was still pushing down the sparks of tension when she nervously smiled to herself. Gods, what was happening to her? Yesterday she had slept as a lioness, an incarnation of blood-lusting Sekhmet herself. Now she felt her heart quivering, mind slipping through possibilities and consequences that had burst their way out of the seal that she had clamped shut around them. _Calm yourself, you pitiful little girl!!_

"No!…I thought I had actually pulled it off," she called back to him through the veil, silently blessing the slaves (now _this_ was extremely bizarre, too) for having refilled the concave area in the marble counter with water. Her cloak dropping to the floor, she thoroughly wiped her bloody fingers around her wrists, flecks of crusted blood fluttering as delicately as feathers down to the water- and then with a hesitant cock of the head, she carefully let her hands lower and sink into the cool water.

She looked away. The life substance of so many people was dissolving into the water in crimson swirls, turning the small pool into a puddle of innocent blood.

Her throat tightened…and she berated herself. _Pull yourself together!_ She couldn't cry over those who had _rightfully_ been slain. Either she did it, or waited around for amateur assassins to give it a few vain tries. _You're always better off doing things yourself._

But was that really her intent now? To slay a handful of people just because of a few pints of blood that flowed in their veins by family right?

_Of course that is your intent! Why even bother questioning it?_

A deep chuckle from over in the other room sliced through her glum reverie, and she was still so highly strung that she did not even smile along with him like she usually would.

Continuously she scrubbed at her hands…tainting the pure, glittering waters…dyeing them the same crimson hue that flowed through her own body…

"Darling, have you not learnt how to tell the time through the flickering wounds of Nut? It is way past your bedtime. I have been awaiting your presence for more than half the night already, and it is at this hour that you decide to show up?" It was clear from his tone of voice that he knew she would snort at this comment. That maybe she'd let out a 'Preposterous' or something of the sort.

So she forced out a shrill giggle just so he wouldn't worry. Just so that he wouldn't come and ask her a load of questions to which she would squirm at and dare not look into his persistent gaze- questions she wouldn't be able to answer.

It was odd how she could spill out a million horrors to those she despised, and yet to him she realized she would not survive if he got angry against a few of her offensive words.

She stared hard at the twinkling reflects of torchlight on the dark water. As if she was willing it disappear before her very eyes. As if…she wished to drown her uncontrollable flow of thoughts into its murky depths.

"Nefertiri?" His voice was silken, smooth ribbons curling around her, enticing her- she firmly closed her eyes, and silently drew her hands from the pool of water, flicking the last pearls of scarlet unto its rippling surface. "Are you alright?"

That man could see through everything, could he? She sighed irritably, and forced the smile onto her face one more time.

"Of course I'm alright. Why should I not be?" She told him, wondering what she should do about her feet. She couldn't just swing her leg up one by one and attempt to scrub them clean- she'd probably slip and crack her head on the edge of the counter, and when her lover would come running, the water would still be bearing the guilty crimson colour and her feet would still be encrusted with blood.

She bit back a wail of despair. Everything was going wrong! Why did he have to be here, now of all times? Nearly all the other nights he had respectfully let her have a little privacy- and now, what was it he wanted, for the sake of the Gods??

She decided to voice her whining. Not knowing at all why she was having this odd mood swing, she suppressed the snappy demeanour of her voice and called to him in a false-cheery tone.

"Did you want anything particular?"

There was a little silence as he shifted position on the bed with a few creaks, probably smiling to himself as was his habit.

"Is it a crime to want a little of your company? We've been avoiding each other for a whole month, my love."

"I haven't been avoiding you." She wanted to snatch her words back- they were tinted with an almost sad, melancholic tone, and for a second it sounded like she was on the verge of tears. _Damn him_, if he had heard it that way…

"Well you've certainly kept yourself busy for an absurdly long time." The bed creaked again as he shifted positions. "Are you going to spend the night behind that curtain, or will you come here with me?"

"Oh, which do you think?" This time she sounded frustrated. Gods, her emotions were in shambles as if some of her teenage hormones had suddenly kicked in once again- they tumbled untamed from her mind and played with her words before she could formulate them properly. _This is the LAST thing I need. Oh, God…_

Her eyes were prickling. Her throat felt unnaturally dry…

_When was the last time I cried…? I can't recall…_

The paths towards that memory were dark and riddled with lurking demons and the menacing hisses of concealed, red-eyed creatures…best not venture down there. But the more she looked into it, the more her feet seemed to move off their own accord, and the more her eyes brimmed with the tears that she had kept imprisoned for months now…

_Why do I suddenly want to cry??_

_Gods, what's happening to me?_

She dragged in a long, wet sniff.

"Nefer?" Her lover called somewhat anxiously, the bed groaning ominously as he got to his feet and padded across the bedroom and towards the small arched doorway of the hidden bathroom. He pulled aside the curtain, slowly…

Both her hands grasped the edges of the counter, knuckles strained and white as if she wanted to crumble the hard stone between her fingers. Head bowed, the lengths of straight ebony hair cascaded down in a shiny curtain to hide her face from view- but the tiny pool of water below her rippled as her tears dripped into it, so silently…_unusually_ silently.

They say that silent tears are often much more lost and despairing than the sorrowful screams that could accompany them.

His eyes traveled down to the water. _A pool of blood_?? Not being as tactless as to gasp, he trailed his worried gaze to his unique love, whose shoulders were shaking softly, discreetly so as to not render him anxious.

But he already was- and he curled a hand around the smooth skin of her shoulder, partly to steady it, and partly to soothe her tears. It had been a long time since he had seen her c-

"Please don't do that," she whispered tremulously, flinching away as if he had hurt her.

"Then tell me what's wrong," he murmured back to her softly, refusing to let his curiosity drag his gaze back to the pool of blood. "Are you hurt? Let me see-"

"NO!" she suddenly shouted, this time taking a step towards the far wall, where she pressed her shoulder and slightly turned her back to him. "Please, just…let me be alone."

He cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

"You know I would never hurt you. Why are you afr-"

"I'm NOT afraid! Don't you know that women need privacy sometimes?!" she whisper-shrieked at him indignantly, refraining from yelling straight in his face. The torch lights flickered hesitantly, as if they too had been banished from the Queen's company.

There was a silence, accompanied by the soft gasps of her sobs, and for a moment the air seemed to buzz with uncertainty.

"I gave you privacy when you did not ask for it," Tia spoke as softly as he could, not knowing what in the Two Kingdoms had overcome his lover. This was not her- she would never display such 'pitiful weaknesses', as she liked to put it, by crying in front of people. Without a second thought, he took a grand stride toward her, completely ignoring her request.

"Stay away, I told you!" she cried, but he closed in on her- his arms brushed against her own as he attempted to embrace her but she threw up her arms in protest, weakly slapping at his throat and chest- "STAY AWa-"

Her yell was muffled as she found her face snuggled in the crook between his neck and shoulder, his arms tightly closed around her and trapping her own, flailing slaps. He hushed her softly, lips brushing the tender skin just before her ear, before planting a kiss on the space above her cheek, knowing that he could break her this way, know that he could dominate her so easily.

She hated him for knowing her so well sometimes, and for always being there to witness her embarrassing moments of weakness- it was always him that knew just how to handle her, if she really needed to be alone, or if she needed the presence of a warming soul.

She hated him- though she let him soothe her, whisper things into her ear not for her to understand, but to feel his warm breath tease her as it brushed over her skin.

Her fingers crawled up to his shoulder blades, blunt fingertips digging into his back. And she let herself weep- she knew he'd understand, anyway.

Not that she knew why she needed to let her tears fall- the will of the heart often takes charge of things without asking pointless questions. If she was to cry now, then so be it. No point in asking herself the reason.

Suddenly she found herself gathered up into his arms, and the cold marble floors fell away from the stained soles of her feet- one arm under her knees, the other snaked around her shoulders, he pressed her against his chest and strode out of the bathroom.

"What the- What are you doing??" she mumbled against him, his body heat enveloping her in a shroud of delicious warmth- absently she found herself drawing closer to him, always craving for more…his scent imposing its sweet, delectable presence around them both.

"Oh? Were you more comfortable pressed up against the wall?" Tia inquired teasingly, before coming to a stop and bending over slightly to deposit her on the bed, taking his sweet time to drag away his arms from her slight body.

She looked up at him with a questioning look shining in the turbulent obsidian depths of her eyes- trying to search his own gaze, trying to see what he intended to do.

Silently he heaved himself up and settled cross-legged next to her laying form. His eyes never leaving hers, he automatically reached forward to brush away the stray strands of raven hair that had tumbled into her eyes.

"Now then…will you tell me what's wrong?" He whispered, even though the thick stone of the palace walls never let through any kind of sound onto other rooms, however close they may be.

What was wrong? How could he expect a simple answer from that? She dug through her own tormented mind, willing for the answer to become clear, but it stubbornly refused to let her track it to its source. The reason she thought up of was that there were probably too many problems to trace them all down to their sources- helplessly she just looked up at him in near-confusion, as he gazed down at her, patiently waiting.

She opened her mouth- to say what? That absolutely nothing made sense to her any more, that she had killed at least half a dozen family members of Imhotep's family, and four of Anck-su-Namun's, and that after all those kills it was now that she felt remorse? How about saying that she didn't know what to do anymore, that she was just plain lost, and that if she even tried to express herself to him he wouldn't understand anyway?

The tip of his finger absently traced the delicate curve of her cheek, traveling lower to discreetly part her lips, and then trekked across the slight bump of her chin… it carried on its ticklish caress down her throat, brushing along her collarbone…

"Gods…" she spoke in a trembling whisper, "I don't know."

"You know it's not very wise to keep things from me, Isis," he murmured with a half-grin. Curse him, she knew he was right. But how could she even consider saying anything to him, without fearing for the survival of their love?

She was lost, and was being pushed even further into confusion by his tactless words- and both of them knew that when words failed, it was actions that ruled in their stead.

And then suddenly he was looming over her, the heat almost rendering the air suffocating as both of their own warmth melded and spread insufferably around them- his face was but a whisper away from her own, his long lashes hooding his eyes, and every breath he took mingled with hers in the minute space that separated their lips. She could suddenly see all the minute details of his handsome, somewhat rugged face- the way the light washing in a bronze glimmer over his skin fell into shadow around the contours and dips of his cheeks- fire dancing in his dark eyes, and her own eyes slipped to his parted mouth, betraying her sudden yearn to feel it against her skin.

"Am I going to have to persuade you?" He breathed almost inaudibly against her lips, eyes fluttering shut as he placed a soft kiss just on the corner of her mouth. His hands were sliding excruciatingly slowly up her slender waist, and she couldn't suppress the shudder that shook through her- impatiently she shifted her head so that their lips brushed ever so discreetly against one another. It seemed the pit of her stomach, or lower was on fire, and flames of wanton desire coiled agonizingly around her lower body- she willingly gave herself to him as he claimed the sweet cinnamon of her lips as his own- kissing her like the night would last forever and a day, he teasingly traced the curve of her breast with a vagabond finger, savouring her in her beautiful entirety.

She had lost track of what they were doing, of what she was meant to be doing- not that any of that mattered any more, now that she was at complete abandon, tasting him, relishing the silken feeling of his skin against her own- though neither of them needed to breath, they parted in the sweetest harmony and he slid his mouth along the line of her jaw, to then hail feathersoft kisses on the sensitive skin of her exposed cleavage…

She dug her head back into the pillow, eyes lightly shut and lower lip caught between her teeth. She didn't know where they were at- was such a thing allowed to exist in a world of cruelty, of such pain?- but at least her thoughts were frozen and weren't clawing relentlessly at her sanity, and if that was what her lover could give, then she would certainly take it. Warmth seemed to pulsate unbearably through her being- blindly she craved for more, to cover up the dreaded feeling of guilt that threatened to crush her soul, and to simply fuel her desire for him to touch her, to feel that he _loved her_… Why could her mind not be at bliss like this every other night? Why could she not have any rest from her tormented mind?

And then she loved him for being there to snuff out the demonic flames that never ceased to tease at her mind. She loved him for chasing away the thoughts of anger and all the darkness that she feared one day would overtake her.

If only for one night…she would gladly forget all the saddening stories of vengeance that existed just for the sake of one, painful memory.

If only for one night…she would allow herself to break open. _To break free_. For that is what she wanted, wasn't it? To just be taken away from all this suffering, all this hate, all this _death_…

He would understand.

She was digging her nails into his locks of ebony hair, soft yielding lips again claimed by his own in a desperate kiss, the heat of its passion almost rivaling the burning atmosphere that hung around them in thick, sweaty veils- in but a few swift movements, the bothersome garments that they had been wearing were carelessly tossed aside, fluttering to the floor in defeat. His hands keenly traveled over the beautiful nudity of her flawless, velvet skin while his lips never left her own- it only took one pleading gaze from her eyes in the midst of their flame to know what she wished.

And then, as he abode by her lustful desire, the whole world seem to set ablaze with the scorching flame of their passion, and they lost themselves willingly into their own little world of unobstructed bliss. The scales tipped dangerously between excruciating pain and total, unadulterated pleasure, and they danced carelessly on the brink of both, completely disorientated as reality seemed to dissolve like a dream all around them. They had been lone, wandering souls, and now that they were together at last, they melded together to create a single being of gold in the midst of the darkness, never again to be alone, never again to know the troubles of reality and the suffering it brought along.

Then as they struggled for one last breath before tumbling into sweet oblivion, they called out blindly for each other in the night, praying for their world not to crumble should they awake from the paradise a little too soon.

When the darkness came to take them back, they thought they had seen themselves dying each in the arms of the other. Let them hope that in the morning, the world will have started to spin once again, and that they would be alive to see what next the mistress of Fate had reserved them.

And let _her_ desperately hope that her cruel ambitions will have died by the morning…perhaps after this night, Fate would come to a crossroad. When the sun would arise, Queen Nefertiri could be reborn…or, if not, her mission undoubtedly would.

But Fate has not often been praised for Her kindness…

* * *

a&n: You mean... that was really..._ intercourse_? Yep, I know, it's a bit hard to believe it, but I wanted it to sound like that. :) Heh, it's crazy and metaphorical but I can assure you, Nefertiri is gonna be showing up with a baby in her belly pretty soon, so you'd better believe it! One thing that I should explain; the "single being of gold" is a reference to the myth of Creation of the ancient Egyptians. In a nutshell, the myth goes like this: in the beginning, there was nothing. Then, there came the Nile, flooding everything with its purifying waters, and bearing a single blue lotus flower on its surface. And when this blue lotus flower opened, sitting inside it was a "single being of gold", otherwise known as Ra. ...at least, I think that's how it goes. Don't ask me where I got the inspiration to include in that last scene, though. -grin- 


	14. The Sandman Is Your Enemy

a&n: Hold your hair down on your head to keep it from flying away, chaps, because this is one **hell** of a confusing chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter fourteen  
_The Sandman is your Enemy_**

**xxx**

Footsteps.

What? Whose footsteps? And why footsteps? Was someone stalking her? At least she had the certainty that they were a human's footfalls, and not those of the grotesque, bloodthirsty demon that had inhabited the space under her bed when she was a kid.

And then, she uneasily let out her breath as she realized the footsteps were muffled, as if there was some kind of guard or a veil between her and the person walking around.

It seemed to her that this person was trudging around in sand, since there seemed to be some kind of odd shuffling that accompanied the man's feet.

Sand?

Where was she?

Her mind seemed to be in a confusing muddle of lost emotions, memories stolen away, and for an awkward moment she found herself questioning her own identity.

Her identity! The little bit of sanity that had remained alight in her mind seemed to have finally been wiped out. Of _course_ she knew who she was.

Which was…

…?

_A fearless Goddess of gold and crimson, bathing in the blood of a million conquered enemies, between the legs of a bronze-skinned, impossibly handsome Eros, the song of their intertwined bodies interrupted by the incessant cackling of the circle of smirking severed heads that surrounded them…_

She was startled more than anything. How could she identify herself as- as _that_?

No way. She couldn't be that. Though, the man seemed familiar to her eyes …

But she remembered nothing of the sort. Why would there be severed _heads_ sitting all cozily around both of them? It wasn't like she'd beheaded anyone bef-

A memory. Short, gruesome, chilling to the bone with gore suddenly pervaded her mind. She remembered twirling around in sand…pillars towering above her all around…an unholy grin spreading across her face…two blades cutting clean through a red-clad man's neck.

_Ugh_. She shivered, though with the memory came a small comfort, however gross it was; at least she had some notion of who she was. Though…if she could only dig a little further…

Something was blocking her path, like a high, sunless wall stopping her from trying to find out who she was and why she couldn't get herself to remember anything. But…how-? She realized there was more than just some indistinct blockade stopping her; it seemed like a swirl of surreal power was snuggling its shapeless arms around her waist and was pulling her back, back into one of the two realities… she found herself running desperately forward and into the darkness of the void, swiping at her waist though all her nails slashed through was her own skin- no demonic hands, no fiendish swirl of presence pulling her back.

She ran. And she ran. She tore through inconspicuous curtains and vines that tore at her in the obscurity- _where on Earth am I??? –_ and, finally, she came to another wall. This time it was like peering through fuzzy, translucent glass; she could just about make out some sort of light on the other side.

But how to make it over to the other side?

She poked invisible fingers at the equally invisible wall, and it was a smooth, cool surface, not unlike that of a mirror. Almost snorting at that thought, she thought to herself that if some Godly light bulb suddenly switched on and she was looking at her reflection, she would beat God to a pulp for pulling this off. Psychology and human logic were _not_ her strong points.

Seeing as there was no way she could possibly attempt to escalate the so-called 'wall', she decided to try something else.

Like…what? Her thoughts tumbled like an endless churning cascade of black. Where was she, anyways? How was she supposed to know _what_ to escape from? And what in the name of Christ was she doing here?

There had to be some reason or other. She furiously refrained from letting her hands fly to cover her face- from what? Desperation? Fear of the darkness?

_That's preposterous._ Jonathan had teased her so much about her apparent phobia of the dark that she had already completely grown out of it when she was about 7 years of age. So, no one could try to sneer at her that she was _still_ afraid of-

Wait. This time her incorporeal right hand flew to what should be her mouth, and her thoughts reeled- what was that name? Her brain tried to grasp at it, that little scampering squiggle of deep black memory, but it scarpered further and further from her hands like some little fiendish slug with its rear on fire.

Unconsciously she let out a whimper of despair- if she even had the ears to hear it, that is- and fell to her knees; she had the most peculiar feeling that her legs were made of the softest, finest cotton, and that the floor was a feather that spread for an innumerable amount of miles.

Where. In God's name?

The hands and poky fingers of her mind groped at anything like the swipes of desperate scavengers- she couldn't recall anything, or she could, but she was so overcome that it had all lost itself in a jumble of a million and one memories, and she was so _sick_ of it- she wanted to tear down the darkness, to scream at whoever held the torches to lighten her path, to yell for help to whomever would be willing to lend an ear- _she searched, she searched_- she wanted to hear someone's voice, or someone's movements, instead of this buzzing fog of unbearable silence- _still, she searched_- she didn't want to be so _cold_, she wanted…wanted someone to drape protective arms around her…she wanted someone to whisper in her ear that, it was alright, that she was going to make it out of here…

Her ghost lips opened in a crack. It was on the tip of her tongue- she could almost _feel_ it lingering there, waiting to be discovered, as patiently as a shut book awaits to be opened. This should be something she could handle! Why was she falling to pieces like this, _why_?

And then the silence screamed.

Nefertiri's lips were right beside her ear. "What is with this pathetic incompetence, you worthless wretch of a girl!?" The Queen roared with such fury that the poor assaulted woman was sure her eardrum would explode—

Then, a man, speaking in a deep Egyptian baritone, calling to her- why wasn't she coming, why didn't she want to be with him, to grace the throne that sat proudly at his side?

The voice of yet another man, this time with so much pain and melancholia dancing on his melodious tone that she felt she would spill tears just for his sake- he was begging her, asking her why, _why did you kill me? What did I do for you curse me this way?_

Women were screeching like banshees in the empty air- here was an Ancient, anguish-filled scream for vengeance against her, and there spoke the million voices of old and young women, all of them unknown, but all of their tones bearing such heavy, heavy pain…

The persons populating this kind of twisted Hell were merging and mingling, their voices teasingly playing with each other and mixing together until it was like an explosion of sounds, of emotions, and the furious Shades continued to scream at her to no end…

She couldn't block it out. She could recognize all of the voices, though it terrified her to even realize that she was acknowledging them, as if they belonged to the sentient memories that she was literally _dying_ to grab at.

Why was this happening to her?! She'd done nothing but trip clumsily onto the existence of another- and ever since, for some reason or other, that damned existence would never cease to tear at her sanity; perhaps that was why she couldn't recall a single thing about her_self_? But how was she supposed to know how to cope with this!? It was impossible! Why her?!

"What do you WANT from me!?" she screamed to the demons who lurked around her, sneering with their toothless snouts and beady, unclosing eyes- suddenly they took pity on her frail form, and the voices withdrew as swiftly as they had invaded this doomed pit of darkness.

…she froze. And waited. Waited for what seemed like an _eternity_…there, kneeling before whatever it was that the obscurity concealed, and wishing that she was back…back where? Home? But she couldn't even remember…

_She wished she could wake up_.

Hope clenched its warm, glowing fingers around her heart. Maybe she was just sleeping? Now, what would she be accustomed to doing if she was ever trapped in a nightmare, when the morning refused to awaken her with its purifying rays of light…?

She almost let out a dry laugh. How long had it been since she was been able to wake herself from her 'dreams'? She could hardly tear herself out of someone's _consciousness_.

Gods. She couldn't believe _what_ she was thinking about. Any sane persona listening in on her would probably think she was hopelessly deluded.

'_You're going off the tangent, darling_,' spoke her shadow in an almost comforting voice, '_how would you wake yourself from a nightmare?'_

_I would_… She paused. _Try to pry my eyelids open, even if in the dream, my eyes already are. I would scream as loudly as I could, wedging my fingers in my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. I would think that it's a dream, and if I wish it hard enough, the scenery would change into something more pleasurable. _

'_Then why don't you try doing that, my dear?'_ The darkness cooed, sounding sickly motherly. Shaking her head in disbelief, she nevertheless tried to shut her eyes and wish it all away- the darkness, the fear, and the cold, the bitter, bone-chilling _cold_.

Where would she want to be? Hah. Anywhere except for here would be a wonderful choice. _Think_. Oh God, a desert if it had to be anything. At least it had _varied_ temperatures. Oh, she wanted…to be with someone else. Someone _tangible_.

Anything. Anyone. Just… away from here, away from this loneliness. _Please_…

…she opened her eyes. Her vision opened upon the same, deep ebony nothingness that she was kneeling on. Disappointed being a major understatement, she let her eyes travel upward to look around her—

Figures. Shadows. A tight circle of dark, wispy figures, all of them leering down at her with their smoky slit eyes; they all had the same corporeal shape as men, and they were 2 metres tall at the least- they blocked out the sudden blinding light that was trying to poke its way through the gaps to get to her widened eyes.

Wondering whether or not she held the same appearance as these…_things_…with a certain degree of panic clotting in her throat, she let her eyes hop from Shadowman to imposing Shadowman, searching for some difference, for some clue that told her that one of them was willing to help her out of here.

They just stared, never stirring, never even letting their glazed stare quiver. Feeling as though their fuming, obsidian eyes were burning her right up, she tried to crawl away from them, but she was hopelessly trapped in the very middle of their circle, and there was _no way_ that she would even try touching them, making some crazy attempt to see if there was touchable skin under those dark, colourless robes.

And then, as her gaze became more and more despairing, one of the figures stepped forward. His sombre attire seemed to have some obscure shimmer that the others lacked - she guessed she hadn't noticed before. Or maybe he had just appeared? Gods, her mind was open to a frighteningly high number of possibilities now- she just waited, sitting there pitifully crouched on the floor. If there even was a floor. Maybe she was hovering over some 9,999,999,999,999 feet deep crevice or something.

She automatically tensed up at that absurd thought, suddenly petrified that the invisible glass floor she was kneeling on would suddenly collapse and send her falling down an endless abyss of darkness- perhaps that's why, when the figure held out a noir hand, she instantly grabbed it with both of hers and let him pull her up to her feet, holding her up.

With a painful flash of colourless light, the hand that she had touched began a strange chameleon-like metamorphosis; tanned, honey-coloured skin began to stretch over its long fingers as if it had dipped the digits into bronze-coloured liquid. The skin strained over the Shade's wrist, before enveloping the whole, muscular arm in golden splendor- then, as the invading skin continued to 'paint' over the Shade's throat and right pectoral muscle, little pieces of jewellery began to squiggle into existence, as if Thoth had whipped out his plume and was having fun colouring this person in. Clasps of pure gold wrapped around the man's forearm, and beautiful, patterned bracers clamped themselves around the wrist that bore skin.

Her eyes widened as the Shade began to acquire hair and proper, muscular forms- not before long, he was granted a face, long black hair pouring out from a million spots on his scalp and tumbling down to his broad shoulders like a torrent of raven locks. His smoking eyes were snuffed out, giving place to warm, glowing chocolate orbs that glittered with recognition as he laid his gaze upon her face.

Soon, she was staring at a proper, skin-bearing _man_, standing there like a regal Samaritan, wearing nothing but a pleated knee-length white skirt that was folded over in a peculiar fashion. It reminded her off something she had seen before…no, it reminded her of _many_ things… and that face! Gods, she was staring as if he might've been some holy disciple of Jesus, and in one fleeting moment she _knew_ who he was, but-

He peered at her curiously, standing at such a height that she was almost intimidated by his eerie presence. There was nothing bad about him, on the contrary, but, it was strange…it didn't quite feel right that he was there.

His lips parted as he looked at her, and out from his mouth tumbled a language that she could not recognize, but that she could still understand. He was asking her something, eyes blazing with intensity, and she let one of her hands fall from his to dangle at her side again, standing before him side-on. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but…

…it just felt _wrong_. She couldn't even explain it to herself.

"I offer you a path, my Lady. Grace it of your presence by my side, and you shall forget even being in this palace of darkness." He spoke with unmistakable grandeur.

…_Huh?_

She would've gladly gone with him, let him pull her away from this place, if she hadn't felt so queer about his aura. Or whatever it was about him that held her on the edge of suspicion.

She felt choked. Staring at him, she let out a slow breath, letting her glazed stare travel down to the hand that she was holding. Well, she wasn't the one holding onto anything anymore- his large hand was clasped around her own as if he was afraid the nonexistent wind might carry her away.

"Come." Was all that he said, and in the second that followed, she found herself being gently pulled through the circle of glaring Shadowmen, and all she could do was follow him to wherever it was he was taking her- that or dig her heels into the floor and stubbornly refuse to take another step.

Though, she would've greatly appreciated it if he actually told her _where_ they were going. The light seemed to be welcoming them with wide open arms- they were engulfed by it, and he continued to pull her, upwards now, ascending an invisible spiral staircase that seemed to continue upwards endlessly, like one of those twisted, hanging decorations that when you turned between your fingers, the spiral-like glass seemed to spin ever-upward.

_Is this some kind of sick interpretation of 'the light at the end of the tunnel'?_

Her infuriating curiosity forced the tips of her feet to knock against the next stair, and she stopped walking altogether, causing the man to almost rip her arm out of its socket as he continued going up the stairs. He stopped too and turned to gaze at her inquiringly.

"Come." He repeated with soft insistence.

"Come t-to _where_?" she asked him, her eyes harsh with angry misunderstanding. "Where are you taking me? Who are you? W-why do I get the impression I know you!?"

A strange smile whispered across the man's lips.

"I am afraid to realize that you desire explanations. Yet explanations are hard to come by, and I am unsure as to whether or not you will accept the facts that I will disclose to you."

She looked completely blank, for that's precisely how she felt as he said his little speech. Surprisingly, though, he didn't look a bit annoyed, and it seemed as though he had all the patience in the world.

"My mistress has no need for your soul. She insisted upon creating it with the strength of her will melded with her own blood- she wanted to create a cocoon in which she could reside, if she ever was to fail the completion of her task." The man spoke, and she had to narrow her eyes and strain her tired ears to be able to understand him. "You see, a cocoon with no temporary soul inhabiting it is just like an empty chest with no key to its lock. By being in control of the little, wayward spirit that resides within the cocoon, for 'safekeeping' as she puts it, my mistress can enter the cocoon whenever the desire triggers her to. So, when she is ready, my mistress will complete the task handed down to her by the darkest of Demons and hunt down those who need to be disposed of. Yet, to do this, she will need this cocoon. And whilst I cannot interfere with the body, I can still attempt to steal the key that allows her to channel from the Underworld to this one."

She stared at him, like, …….._what in the name of CHRIST is he talking about?_ Perhaps she was just too tired to understand anything, but the way he was speaking just made her feel like she was completely aside of things. She was just so _not_ in the mood for metaphors right now. Just a simple explanation, to help her decide whether or not she wanted to go with him, and that was all. Was the man unable to refrain from talking in bloody riddles?

"So…where are you taking me?" she repeated herself, dismally feeling like some simple-minded macaw. He simply afforded her a sympathetic smile, as if he was thinking how stupid she was but covering it up with a kind gesture.

"I am taking you back to your rightful body," he announced with a curt little bow, and then proceeded to dragging her up the stairs again.

She was far from satisfied with the enigmatic answer. This _was_ her body, right? Or maybe she was a Shadowman like those horrid hybrid _things_ back down there in that room, that dark chamber? Maybe she was a ghost? Or an imprint of her former life… oh, Gods, she didn't understand anything of what was going on. If he was taking her back to her body, did that mean he was…_resuscitating _her? So she was dead!?

"Hey! Hey person!" she refrained from yelling as he just continued marching up the stairs with his head bowed and magnificent eyes cast downward on the floor. He quirked his head to the left, indicating that he was listening, but he kept walking.

Fear let its cold fingers trickle down her spine as she kept a fixation on the thought of her being dead- she yanked at the man's hand to force him to stop, and pierced through his inquiring gaze with her own, wide, completely confused eyes.

"First off, I _refuse_ to be dragged around without a proper explanation. I'm sorry but, not a _word_ of what you said made sense to me. Am I dead? Whose body are you taking me to?" she snapped impatiently, beginning to feel even more mistrustful about this person, whoever he was.

His patience seemed to be taking a whipping. "Normally, my lady, I would not be answering any questions," He hissed in a voice that was rather too milky to match with the frost in his eyes. "Normally, I would not even tolerate someone barking away at me in such an indignant manner. But since you require information to ease your fragile state of mind, I shall tell you in simplified words,"

_Why, you're so kind! _She kept that snide remark to herself, suddenly a little afraid of that unfriendly expression that his eyes bore.

"It is not of my mistress's knowledge, but I plan to return the makeshift soul she created to its source. You are to live through the life that you should've died with, and you shall not return to the life that she gave you- the one you have in her cocoon. I wish to accomplish this so that my mistress's evil will not spread to your time- she can travel over oceans of time through your soul, and if said soul is not present, then she shall forever linger between the worlds. Powerless, and unable to harbor chaos and destruction any longer." The man spoke slowly, and throughout the whole speech, not once did his penetrating gaze waver from her own, not once did he even blink. Something inside her squirmed as he continued to look at her in such an _intimate_ manner- she felt almost as if he was exposing her, like by simply looking at her he could make her feel as though she was stripped naked. She, on the other hand, found herself blinking away frantically as if she wanted to hide her eyes from him.

_So…s-so that means he wants to return my soul to the body of the woman who created it. _She looked hard at the space below his eye, just that patch of gold-tainted velvet skin that stretched over his high cheekbone. _Wait- my soul was _created_? Is that even _possible_? My God… so that means I'm not natural? I'm some _creation_ of this guy's mistress?! _That was impossible. She decided not to let the worry seep through her mind with its winter chill, and tried to decipher more of the man's speech as he resumed pulling her up the stairs. _He said some stuff about a 'cocoon'. And that I'd been living in it… so, his mistress made herself a cocoon, and in order for her to get into that cocoon, she'll pass through my soul. Me. …What? What kind of _madness_ is this?! So like, I was _created_ just so that she could hop over from the dead world to this one?! _

_This makes wonderful sense. And that _person_ is going to stop right now, or I'll scream till his ears melt off. _

"Mister!" she cried, almost painfully as he irritably twisted her wrist, like he was too tired to just tell her to shut up. "I had a-a life in that 'cocoon' body, didn't I?"

His head cocked ever so slightly to the left, as if in contemplation.

"I suppose so."

"But how can two souls live in one body?" She almost feared what answer he would give for that one. She could practically feel him smiling pitifully.

"In your dreams, my mistress allowed you to dissolve into a part of her mind and become a spectator of her life. I can put in effect the same methods. And when she will die, both of you will be errant souls, stuck between the world of the living and that of the dead. I regret this, but if I were to choose between trapping my mistress and letting her loose, I would…be forced to choose the lesser of two evils." He sounded almost regretful as he said this. In an instant something hit her- as she listened to his tone, looked at his bowed face and stole a glimpse at his shimmering eyes, she realized his 'mistress' was someone that he held dear to his heart. He had to condemn her to stop her from waging a certain 'evil', even though he loved her.

_That's sad._ It was all very heartfelt and whatever, but she still thought it was _so_ unfair that she had become wrapped up in all of this. Wait. She hadn't become wrapped up in it all- she'd been stuck in this story since she was _born_. The very thought chilled her right to her core- how could someone create another's soul? It was simply impossible! It felt like someone had forcefully extracted her from her life- though since the beginning, her existence had purely been a life of waiting. Waiting for some cow to come and steal her body from her.

_Unfair. So, totally, stupidly unfair._

"S-so I'd just be a spectator."

"That's the plan," replied the man, and he _smirked_, causing her to have some sudden desire to slap that perverted smile right off.

"I'm sorry," she said, silently cheering at the way her voice didn't quiver in fear and whatever else made up that tornado of emotions that churned within her mind. "I don't think I want to just spend my life looking out of someone else's eyes."

The man stopped, before spinning around on the stair above her, ominously regarding her from his height as though he was a Fallen One from above.

"I apologize for not telling you. Either you choose this path, or you stay here to rot away till the end of time." Saying she was taken aback was yet another major understatement. To think that, minutes ago, she was dying to go with him and get away from that Hellhole, and now she was literally going to die to get away!

_Gods_. Yes, well, the Gods weren't being particularly nice to her right now. She just gawked at him, mouth open and mind reeling, going over the facts that he had stated.

"The second option is worse than death, my lady," he tried to persuade her, shaking his head as he spoke just to make sure she got the point. "You should be grateful that I am doing this for you- for the world. By doing this, I will be saving those who my mistress will surely kill whilst inhabiting your former body, lurking like a dormant virus in your own time."

"B-but—either way, I'll just be an 'errant soul', as you so _charmingly_ put!" she protested hotly, glaring at him, "I-I'm sure there might be some way to get me back to my life. I mean, you can't just-just cast me away like this. If I follow what you said, I had my own life before. You have no right to just pull me out of it!" She wanted to add a wimp-ish '_I'm too young to die!'_ but she doubted she would like whatever comeback he was going to spout at that.

"I have every right, since my mistress is the one who cast the spell that would cause a future member of her bloodlines to give birth to an exact replica of her body. It is just sad that she chose this way to channel from age to age. I had no idea that using a soul would be a crucial part of her plan, but if that is the way of things, then I am obliged to dispose of you. I am deeply sorry." He said, and for a moment she was almost fooled.

"No, you're not. You're just saying that. I'm – I'm sure you can get me back to my old life. And if you mistress ever tries to possess me or something, I swear I'll do anything to stop her." He was shaking his head. "I swear I will! In all honesty!"

"I thought I made it clear," he said softly, though she wouldn't have been as intimidated if he'd bellowed in her face. "There are two options. Come and live, or stay and die. You'd be a fool to make the wrong choice."

She wrenched her hand out of his and folded her arms, haughtily sticking her nose up in the air though her heart had transformed into some kind of malfunctioning Minigun and was completely massacring her ribcage. "Well I'm a fool then. I don't want to go and live someone else's life. I just don't, if it means I'll meet the same end as what I'll get if I stay in this place."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm leaving you no option here, my lady. I cannot leave you aimlessly wandering in here. You must follow."

"You just told me I could either go with you or die! I chose to die and you say no? How fair is that?" She refused to meet his burning gaze, and interrupted him as he opened his mouth to speak. "And what's wrong with leaving me here? I'll be here again when your 'mistress' dies, anyway." A slap of her hand on her hip, to show her frustration. He raised an eyebrow at this, then sighed.

"When she will die, the two of you will remain between two worlds. Here, you are just between two_ lives_. You are neither dead nor living- you just require a body to continue your life." He explained, his tone hurried as if he didn't wish for her to understand where his words could lead.

Unfortunately, she turned out to be quite the intelligent woman. Her eyes were averted, as though deep in thought.

"Come," he said yet again, groping for her hand, but she inched away from him.

"If I'm trapped between two lives- mine and your mistress's, then I'm sure you can get me back to my life as easily as you can force me into that _woman_'s." she stated, stepping back onto a lower stair.

"Haven't I already made it clear that that was in no way my plan?" he fumed, getting annoyed at long last. "I came to dispose of you. You will comply!"  
"No I won't!" she yelled, taking another step back, before tripping on the stair she had landed a foot on- she slipped off the sharp edge and suddenly found herself soaring backwards through whatever air hung in this place- carelessly she let rip the scream from her throat, and somehow turned completely around in midair, to then land on a much lower stair and start sprinting as fast as she could down the pure, crystalline white spiral staircase.

She heard the man let a curse escape from his frostily polite mouth, and then he launched himself at her pursuit, leaping down the staircase with an almost feline-like agility, taking the stairs 5 at a time- panting wildly, hardly thinking of what the hell she was doing, the woman continued to scrabble frantically down the stairs, eyes darting as they searched for a source of darkness to guide her back to that place with all the strange Shadowmen.

Ironic, how she had begged to see the light, and was now rushing back to square one. _Black_ square one.

But the man was catching up with her quite easily- she could almost feel his unruly locks of hair lash out to brush her shoulder blades, sense his presence hopping from stair to stair just behind her.

She was running out of options of escape. If she continued running, he'd just tackle her and shove her right back up the stairs to wherever, carrying her unconscious form under his arm like some dead antelope, destined to be cooked. If she gave up, she'd just watch someone's life till she died (literally). Or if she actually succeeding in getting back to those Shadowmen, God knows what they would do to her! Maybe they were evil little things? But what would evil little things be doing in the deep dark crevice between two existences?

Another moment of enlightenment besieged her. She had been wishing for those all along! So that meant that…

_They're memories._

When she had touched one of the Shadowmen, he had transformed into that man- a memory from one of her lives. But his cloak was aglow. Perhaps he had forced his way here? But, but, but- if she touched another of those strange beings, perhaps they would transform into people from her memories, people who could help her?

_But what if I can't remember anyone?_

She bit back a wail of despair. _Well then, in the next few seconds, I suggest you start digging for those darn memories. _

This was bordering on insane. Scratch that- this whole _thing_ was insane! She began once again her search for those beings that had populated one of her lives, searching, searching- she could hear him getting so close- she was panting so hard she could hardly concentrated- _but I must!_ – he was shouting at her now, impatiently swiping for her, missing so narrowly- she was still searching –

The darkness was coming. She leapt off the last stair, finally, and scrambled across the plain of light towards that little black blotch that would lead her back to the Shadowmen- _he was just behind her_- she thought she'd never run that fast in her whole life though it was hardly the time to feel proud- _oh my God, I still can't remember a dang thing- _she searched, frantically, filing through the gaping spaces in her mind, piecing bits and pieces back together-

The darkness welcomed her back, gulping her down into its obscure jaws, and she was running through an eternity of black, not seeing where the heck she was running, if she would smash against a wall or trip over a vine- whatever those hanging _somethings_ were- she still hadn't found anything, no memories, no people, and the Shadowmen were nearing-

The man was letting loose whole strings of curses as he realized her plan, and she silently rejoiced, since that maybe meant that she was on the right path- _path to what, exactly?-_ but her memories failed her time and gain-

She was a mere 100 metres away from a particular Shadowman, and she tried to call out to him but he had no ears to hear her; she stumbled forward, somehow forcing her system into a crazy overdrive and accelerating just out of her pursuer's reach. But he predicted this, and increased his speed too- 50 metres away, now- _still no memory of someone to help her out-_

With a breathless shriek of desperation, she launched into an absurdly high leap- only 3 or 4 metres away now- she cleared them, soaring clumsily through the dark atmosphere; sensing her, the Shadowman turned slowly around, head twisting to peer over his dark shoulder, eyes fuming in her direction as she closed in on him. Her pursuer let out a sharp cry as she landed right before the seemingly baffled Shadowman, tottering on her feet before stumbling over on her knees- just 50 or so centimeters away now! Couldn't the Shadow reach out to her or something? Her breaths came in short gasps as she frantically tried to heave herself back to her feet, hearing the man's steps come frighteningly closer- _no no NO- _she forced her mind to conjure up the image of the first person that came to her mind, the first person that she would remember. Who was it? Who? _Come on, come ON! _

It was too late to think about anything now- she lashed out her legs in two long strides and threw out a hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around the Shadowman's forearm.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The man behind her skidded to a halt behind her with a scorched ribbon of obscenities to show his discontent- she prayed to whoever would listen for this to work. _Please, please! Just anyone! PLEASE!_

The Shadowman began to change almost instantly- from where her hand was pooled a paler stretch of skin, forming a muscular arm wrapped up in a black sleeve- in moments his face began to form; long ebony strands of hair, an almost exact replica of her pursuer's face… there was an excruciating swirl of power, the feeling of drowning beneath the crush of an overly powerful wave, a million screams, blind echoes ringing…

And then, nothing.

**xxx**

**Breathe!**

**xxx**

…warm…

…rested…

…calm…

Her eyes rolled beneath her crusty eyelids.

She was…

…all wrapped up in a cloud of warmth…

…_mmh…_

…such…nice…feeling…

"BOSS! SHE'S STIRRING!!"

The words sliced rudely through her mind like the swipe of an axe. She rolled her eyes again, absently wincing at the pain that pulled at the muscles around her eyes.

…what the…? Who was disturbing her…idiot…

She was so cozy…lying all snuggled beneath warm covers, on a nice soft floor. There was a sweet, poignant smell wafting about, and she almost instantly recognized it to be that musty, bittersweet smell of boiling sand. Gods, this smell deliciously reminded her of…home…?

She suddenly realized that she had been sucked back into reality, and that she was in an actual body...she could've leapt with joy if she hadn't already had enough trouble to try opening her eyes, for a start.

Even the slightest noises around her assaulted her ears like supersonic vibes screeching through her brain, and she wondered why the Gods hadn't given humans the capacity to shut their ears against noise. Pfeh, they could be mindless sometimes. It surprised her how calmly her mind was working, so blissfully slowly and without butting into sore spots that would trigger her worries. She just lay there for a few minutes more as a scrabble of people bustled around her, and let her mind work calmly towards that little something that it was trying to find.

It suddenly clicked into place.

_My name…I am Evelyn Carnavan. British…half Egyptian…oh, of course, I have a brother. Of course! _She glowed inwardly to think that he was the first to grace her recovering memory. How could she possibly have forgotten about him? It was all coming back now. _My father married a beautiful Egyptian woman…yes… _

_Oh! _She scorned herself. _I'm an O'Connell now, aren't I? Er… oh, but yes, my husband is this handsome Nomad, with-_

…_What? _

_No, no, no! I remember now…he's Rick O'Connell, a rude, ill-mannered, gorgeous Yankee…and we have a son…_

Her eyes opened in a crack, and she felt as blind as a newborn- she blinked away the crusted, dry remains of tears from her eyelashes, the little flecks crumbling away down her face like little snowflakes. God, how long had been since she'd taken a look at _her_ world? Her eyes slid from left to right, opening a slither wider, and she managed to take in big, blotchy blurs that could be considered as three or four humans, crouching around her bed. She was lying on the floor, and one flicker of her tired eyes later, she found out that she was in a rather small tent.

A large, plushy rolled-up sleeping bag was propped up behind her, and the next thing she knew, there were two men at her sides heaving her up into a sitting position. Some kind of smooth, thin edge of something was pushing uncomfortably against her lower lip- still in such a weird, drugged-like state, she obediently opened her mouth and let the guy pour the contents of the bowl into her mouth. Well, he tried to anyway; the fresh, almost freezing water trickled down her flecked chin and ran in cold rivulets down her throat, spawning little dark patches on this flimsy maroon shirt they had slung onto her, for the sake of modesty (that ripped-open shag appeal nightie was NOT the best of choices when you're traveling long distances). She managed to gulp down some of the tasteless stream of ice cold liquid, between all the chokes and disgusting slurps and dribbles of dry spit. As the guy drew the little bowl away from her mouth, the other reached forward with a damp glove mittened over his hand to dab at her face and chin.

Eve was so embarrassed at that moment- it was like they were taking care of a baby after its first feed or something. She was _drooling_. Ugh, how completely uncivilized, especially in front of two guys. Honestly!  
As her memory came slowly back to her in shambled patches, she began to recall what she was doing here. Little by little, as the two men distracted her annoyingly with that irritating little tiny bowl of water, she remembered…Leeu…that black lady…Lock-Nah, there was something about him too…

And then, it hit her as hard as raging bull ramming into what remained of her concave stomach. _Of course! _Why hadn't she remembered earlier!? There was someone very dear to her in captivity, too…the only someone who could, and _would_ take care of her, _properly_.

She suddenly felt as though something had fallen away from the pit of her stomach. _I need to see him._ How long had she been out, really? Was he alright? Oh, _God_ she hoped that that horrid Leeu hadn't completely taken her so-called vengeance out on him. Last time she had seen them, they seemed to…well, 'getting on' would be a very inappropriate term, but they were certainly not trying to slash at each other's throats.

She hated not being able to use her senses properly. Everything was blurry, slow, and seemed to refuse to obey her wishes. She wanted to scream out the scraps that remained of her vocal cords, wanted to open her eyes wide and see who on Earth was present around her, wanted to _unclog her dang ears_ to be able to properly hear what was going on. Oh, and she was getting sick of those stupid men trying to force feed her with a ridiculous little bowl! What, were they trying to choke and drown her in those 0.3 millimetre depths?

Wheezing life back into her atrophied muscles and creaky articulations, she heaved up her left arm- completely stumped at the fact that it seemed to weigh tons- and clumsily swiped away the bowl, making it clatter out of the surprised man's hands and fall into the sand beside her thin little mattress, rocking slightly on itself.

Eve could almost make out the man who had formerly held the cup, and he was glaring at her, like she'd just hurt on of his best friends or something. He took the cup in his large, probing fingers again, and she was about to squeeze out some protestation out of her papyrus-like throat, but they were interrupted by another person who was standing over at the entrance of the tent.

"Don't force a woman, you little witty something. Give her the drink when she's feeling a little better, alright?" A little bewildered as she recognized this voice, and even more so at the kind tone it seemed to bear, Eve tried to peek out of her stiff eyelashes, furiously willing her eyes to cooperate. Gradually her vision cleared a bit, and she found that she was staring at the tall, sensually curved black African beauty that had kidnapped her and her Medji friend. The woman's glittering cypress-green eyes stared down at her, and when she noticed her stare was being returned rather vehemently, the black snaked-eyed woman smiled a sickly smile.

"Welcome back to the real world," she greeted with some kind of ironic pout, before muttering a 'you know whatcha supposed ta do' and sauntering straight out of the tent again, pinning up the tent flaps so that Eve could see what little she could decipher of the outdoor world.

"Drink this," the bowl-bearing man was back with a vengeance, holding his little water-filled bowl with the same look on his face as a man wielding a huge skull-crushing weapon. Eve cocked her eyebrow (straining muscles around the said eyebrow that she didn't even know existed) and tried to lift her hands to the bowl to take it and help herself, even though her wrists were creaking like they were in dire need of oil or else her hands would pop off of her arms, and her elbows were sore, and her shoulders felt so stiff that she was sure she'd been sleeping on them for at least 6 months.

As a show of ultimate generosity, the guy actually gave up his sacred bowl to her, and what sounded like a suppressed grumble arose from his throat. _God_, Eve thought, bringing the cup to her lips, _it's just a bloody cup! Or maybe something else is troubling him…_ Pf. She could hardly care less about the well-being of men that she didn't know- what really had her getting obsessive was what had happened to her black-clad, Ragnarok-ing, throat cutting friend. Sweet mother of Gods did she hope he was alright.

She dunked the whole contents of the bowl down her throat, hardly tasting anything save for a freezing slither of cold running down her throat, and then tossed aside the cup to turn her attention to the glove-wearing guy at her left. He thought she wanted help with the extermination of excess dribble again so he got his gloved-hand at the ready- but she stilled him with those deep, sombre hazel eyes, almost making him lower his own.

"Wh…" Inaudible wheeze of breath, "…w-th Ard-?" Inaudible wheeze of breath.

The guy just looked at her, with a priceless expression of complete confusion on his face. She tried again, but to no avail- she just ended up hacking her lungs into little bloody slithers with atomic coughs that seemed to carry on till every little breath in her body was spent.

After a while of just staring at her with his head cocked to one side, like, _what an ugly sight this is_, the Glove-Wearer actually gathered what the woman was trying to say and flicked his gaze up to the red-clad Bowl-Bearer. Both of them exchanged a few words in a language that, even when she sharpened her ears to their fullest capacity, she didn't manage to decipher. Perhaps it was just another language. _No need to get irritated, Evelyn. You're safe, and warm, and you don't have to beset your wrath upon completely innocent men. _

Then, the Glove-Wearer looked down at her again and told her to wait for a minute, his exotic voice tainted with the most gorgeous of accents, making her absently warm up to him in that second. Actually, that positively charming voice reminded her of her friend…couldn't they hurry it up? Couldn't they at least make an effort for her sake? Couldn't her _darn_ vocal cords strain themselves a little!?

The Glove-Wearer tugged off his damp glove and hurried out of the tent, and she hoped it was to go and get a certain Medji, whilst the Bowl guy stayed at her side, slicking back some of her hair and straightening the covers that she was snuggled up in. It made her feel a little uncomfortable to be treated this way by a complete stranger, but since she couldn't even muster the strength to protest, she just had to take it. And make no fuss. She hadn't forgotten that she was slap bang in the middle of her enemies, for one…

She waited for a minute, practically counting the seconds. The guy next to her ran out of things to fiddle with, and with a terse bow he left her tent as well, wishing her a 'quick recovery' or something of the sort as he went. She could've scoffed at that.

She waited for another minute. And another. And, yet another sixty seconds later…she found herself thinking that the Glove guy had entered her friend's tent to find him all bloody, sprawled out on the floor, with Leeu towering above him like a vulture over its prey…or perhaps he had found some way to escape, and had left her behind because she would hinder his journey… fear clutched at her sanity again, and for a moment she scowled irritably- it was only a few minutes ago that she'd found herself bathing in a sweet, sugary bliss of ignorance and comfort. Why wasn't he coming? Maybe he just couldn't be bothered, or he was in too much pain, to actually get up and walk all the way to her tent?

She froze. What if he _was_ in pain, like, he'd just had a torture session or something that she couldn't even prevent (oh alright, she had been unconscious, but still) and still she'd asked him to come see her!? How tactless was she to ask such things of him, when- when she was being treated like an honored guest, while their enemies thought of him like some vulgar stray dog? Or even _piniana. _Whack him, and get a treat for it!

She shivered unconsciously, worry after peel of worry tumbling through her fretful mind- but then, as her eyelids began to succumb to the strange weight that they seemed to hold, and her vision narrowed, and she felt the sleep _engulf her, so, so softly…_ there was a quiet noise at the entrance of the tent. Very discreet, but her tired ears managed to catch it nevertheless.

But…oh…the dark was so tempting…she didn't understand why this sudden wave of fatigue was rolling so eagerly over her senses, and it seemed to bring a pleasurable glow to her core as her eyes finally drifted shut. After all…what harm could it do to just rest -?

There was a shuffle just at her right, and a hand descended onto both of hers, which were clasped together over her completely flat stomach.

And then, a voice spoke, and she was too tired- but she still heard it. Still heard that lulling, silken tone, wrapping around her senses almost _lovingly_…

"…lyn…"

A pool of pulsating warmth caressed her hands, originating from that burning skin that his hand covered- her head slowly drew upwards, trying to awaken her groggy nerves, and she tried so hard to fight the upcoming darkness-

"…elyn…"

It was just an echo, so faraway, yet his cold, chapped lips could've grazed her ear as he spoke. Gods, what was with this sudden desire to give herself away to sleep…?

"Evelyn!"

At this, something kind of went _pop_ in her nervous system and her brain sent a fierce whiplash to her poor, drooping eyelids, and her eyes snapped open. Well, just about.

He was sitting to her right, hand laid over hers, eyes bearing a deep obsidian swirl of worry, boring straight into hers. She didn't even blink as she caught his gaze, and she realized that the warmth and lovely comfort suddenly came back, as if the worry had chased them away.

_He's alright! Oh, thank God…_

Her heart was thudding away, but it wasn't in fear…she almost winced as the basketball-like muscle crashed time and again against her ribcage with fierce insistence. He just sat there looking at her, with what seemed like an immense relief washing over his features. He seemed…serene. And so did she…

Eve didn't even think about anything else in that moment. What was the point? Now that her mind seemed to have been positively flooded with her entire XXth century life, she just felt submerged. Let the Gods give her a little peace, for the sake of pity. Here she was, regarding the dark Medji as though he was her own ray of light in this absurdly complicated situation, and she didn't seem to harbor the least worry in the world.

She cleared her throat a little uneasily and tried to squeak a question at him.

"H-h…ong h-ve I been out?" Well, emphasis being on the 'tried', obviously. Ardeth's sombre eyes suddenly flicked to the hand he had laid over hers, and he quickly removed it, as if he had suddenly noticed the shine of the scratched golden ring that glinted off of her left hand, and had thought his actions were improper. Eyes lowered to the sand as he shifted sitting positions, he answered her in hushed tones;

"About two weeks."

Her jaw would've dropped open and literally dislocated itself if it hadn't been so stiff. She silently thanked him for looking away, absently scowling at herself for giving him that _look_. Okay, it had been unconsciously, yes, but still! It was _Rick_ and _Rick only_ who was allowed to be graced by the Look. She couldn't just go and gaze at whomever, with her eyes bearing such an emotion. God!

_How improper._

But, back to the matter at hand. "T-toh w-ks!?" She tried to exclaim, feeling herself flush as she realized she sounded like some dusty squeaker being re-used after years of abandon. He didn't seem to mind though; he still understood her, and that was what mattered.

"Yes. You were in somewhat of a coma," he explained, and there was some kind of knowing glitter in his obscure gaze, as if he knew that it wasn't exactly a coma. They both knew what had been the cause of her… 'passing out'. "Anyone else would've thought you dead- you were as cold as ice, and your breathing was very shallow. I think…I think it was because you had 'gone somewhere'…" He looked at her inquiringly. "Am I incorrect?"

Eve tried as hard as she possibly could _not_ to go beet red at that precise moment- of course she remembered what it was she had 'dreamed' about, and she was in _no way_ proud of what she'd witnessed. Well, sure, it might've been strange…and interesting…and… beautiful… BUT! She was married! She- she had a child!

Somewhere, inside or outside of her mind, her shadow gave a humorous snort. '_Are you not getting tired of using that excuse, my dear?'_

"I…" She blinked uncertainly, and a whisper of a smile stole across Ardeth's lips. He…pretty much had an idea of what she had dreamt about. Egyptians were, well, very _prone_ to pleasurable things, after all, and when you spent your life living in a palace with a gorgeous (well, on the exterior) queen to spend every night with…

Medjai do not blush. It is against tradition, and besides, the expression of ultimate bravery and wisdom always was a trademark on a warrior- catch one with a blush, and he'd immediately get fiercely demoted or something. But, at that exact moment, no one was around to stare at him with accusing eyes- a faint, faint tinge of pink arose to his cheeks, and as a cover he smiled down at the woman laying down before him so that she wouldn't notice. Well, her cheeks already glowed with a fiery red hue, but that just made her look all the more _normal_. He'd almost worried himself to death at the way she had been so pale, and so _cold_.

"Did you…?" Ah, her voice was gradually coming back! But, even so, she refused to look at him as she asked him this infuriatingly embarrassing question. "Did you g—'somewhere' too, or not?"

He stared at her, and she almost wanted to bite back her words, absently shivering under his gaze.

"I didn't," he stated, "but, all truth be told, perhaps that was because I was hardly given any sleep-"

'What!" Evelyn yelped in alarm, almost sitting right up before sinking back into the rolled up sleeping-bag, again assaulted by a fierce fit of coughing. Had Leeu really hurt him then? Had he been subjected to a number of foul, evil torturing machines and methods and whatever else, and not even allowed a single decent night's sleep!?

"Calm yourself- it has nothing to do with torture or twisted instruments or anything of the sort. I'm unsure whether or not they've informed you of our current whereabouts?" he assured her, and she looked at him a little disbelievingly, shaking her head no.

"We are stationed at a dig site, somewhere in the desert that stretches along the west flank of the Nile. Apparently, our 'host' told me that this is the end of our journey," Ardeth looked frighteningly solemn as he told her this, and she raised an eyebrow at him, as if asking him why this was the first thing he told her when she had just awoken from a two-week long coma.

"The-the _end_!?"

He nodded. Then he cocked his head at her, almost amusingly, lengths of unkempt raven hair tumbling over his shoulder.

"Evelyn. You surprise me," he spoke softly, "Do you really think I mean for us to just give up, knowing that she plans this to be the end for us?"

She looked at him blankly.

"I'm not entirely sure what she plans to do with you," he murmured, and for a second his hand twitched and his gaze seemed to linger on her face, as if he'd like to brush his fingers along her cheek- _or maybe she was just imagining it_- but he refrained himself just in time. (For the best.)

_Did you really want that? Want that to happen?_

_Did you? Did you?_

"I think I heard rumours among the workers…" But he didn't say anything else about those. "…and I overheard some conversations 'unintentionally'…" (Probably because he didn't want her to worry.) "But, know this; no harm will come to you."

She looked almost expectant at that, but something seemed to be holding her back.

"It's because that-that _woman_ wants me for some experiment. Probably. So they wouldn't want to scratch me up." Her reasoning was completely logical, but he still shook his head as she spoke.

"I don't mean that."

Confusion? Not a strong enough term… she just stared at him for a little longer, until his dry mouth curled up into a smile, and he leaned forward, looming over her with his ebony locks of hair brushing softly against her lips. She was about to ask him what he was doing, when she felt a muscular arm snake around her shoulders, and the other pulled back the sheets to slide under her legs.

"Whatareyoudoing!" She gasped indignantly, all in one breath, and her arms flailed helplessly as he carefully picked her up from the cozy mattress. The dark Medji stayed mute, and he cautiously pressed her against his chest as he got to his feet. He had to bend over slightly because the tent ceiling was very low, and he carried her straight over to the tent entrance, ducking his way out, despite all of her angry whispering and feeble punches.

Once he was outside, standing barefoot in the boiling hot pools of sand, dressed in his completely shredded black trousers and an open maroon shirt that some generous acolyte had lent him, he narrowed his eyes in the fierce assault of the midday sun and absently pressed Eve a little closer to his chest.  
She was still furiously pounding her fists into his battered, bruised skin, trying to get him to put her down (for dignity's sake!), when he lowered his eyes and spoke.

"If any harm were to come to you…" His voice was smooth, deep and soft, and it bore some kind of tenderness that Eve hadn't even thought was possible for him. Her fists paused in mid-punch, and she just resumed staring up at him. _Their faces were so close…_ yet he was looking away.

_That's strange._ She seemed to be having a deja-vu…

"_It may not be the right thing to do, but I would avenge you…_" He spoke in an Ancient, long forgotten tongue, and his brow was knitted together in an almost confused frown as his eyes slid over to look at her sideways.

She was gaping at him with utter incredulity written over her pale, gaunt face, glazed hazel eyes searching his face.

_Okay, this deja-vu thing is getting _slightly _freakish._

"Now close your eyes."

Eve could've almost shaken her head to chase away the confusion.

"Wh-?"

"Close-"

"But-"

"Close them!"

So, well, she did. Wondering what on Earth her old friend was planning, she carefully knotted her hands behind his neck, holding onto him a little gingerly, and slid her eyes shut.

She could vaguely hear the shuffling footsteps of a couple of guards, maybe two, who followed close behind them as Ardeth walked onward. Inwardly cringing at this embarrassing position- honestly, she'd just woken up and she was already all gathered up into her old friend's arms!- she tried to calm her senses which were automatically set on FRET-mode, and just did what usually managed to soothe her. Her eyes tightly squeezed shut, she lightly knocked her ear against her friend's chest, listening to the steady, rhythmical pounding of his heart. She was half-wondering why, since she had awoken, her senses had seemed to fully recover with even more acute capacities, and also half-wondering where on the planet Ardeth was bringing her. His strong, secure arms seemed to dip slightly every now and then, though he tried to prevent it- she found herself being rocked forward, to the side, and even being pressed up a little _too_ intimately against the Medji's chest as the man awkwardly strode across sloping stretches of sand.

Her now-sensitive ears caught the various noises that the hustle of people around her caused; there was a dragging symphony of instruments being plunged into dry sand- it sounded much like a crowd of people digging in the dunes; there was the general noisy chatter of husky Arabian male voices, the sound of voices wheezing through parched, scratchy throats, as if it had been ages since any of the owners of the voices had had something to drink. It reminded her of…herself…Ardeth…_perhaps those people are slaves? _

They were probably advancing throughout the dig site. But, as her carrier marched on with a little difficulty, the noises began to fall away…gradually… she absently smiled to herself, starting to feel that gnawing curiosity putting her impatience ablaze. Anticipant, she wrung her hands together and fidgeted a bit, causing Ardeth to shift her almost feather-like weight in his arms. Gods, how many weeks had it been since she'd had a bite to eat? More than enough, anyway…

Then, she felt his eager strides eventually slow to a halt, her fidgets increased- what? What was it? What were they standing infront of?

She could sense him smile. Just when she was about to ask him, he spoke;

"You can open your eyes now."

And she did.

The sight almost knocked her out cold. There, sitting on their 67 foot high, royal age-old thrones of stone were four breathtaking _titans_ gleaming like pure myrrh in the rising sun- three pairs of wide, heavily outlined eyes glared out into the flickering horizon, crowns of the Royal sprouting upward from the tops of their heads- and there were snakes' elegant curled-up bodies poking out; the eroded eyes leered down at them with all the haughtiness that graced Royalty's face.

It had taken the work of the vulture-winged angels of Isis herself to carve such beautiful statues, finesse and pure dedication embedded within each and every little detailed curve or crook, within the smoothness of the Princes' golden stone skin. Behind the broad, shapely legs of the Princes hid reasonably smaller statues of Goddesses and very pretty women, all of them standing and peeking out timidly at the gaping humans, with the fashionable thick wig neatly curled around their shoulders, rock dresses enveloping them like second skin.

Eve was…

…stumped.

To say the least.

"Abu Simbel," announced the man who still had his arms locked securely around her, who she had completely forgotten about- his breath teased at her nape, and absently she tried to draw away from him a little (she was still so shy; well, she couldn't exactly change overnight, now could she!) (…_Jonathan would be sneering at me right now. Hell, he'd be laughing his head off, more like!)._

But that didn't matter. Jonathan wouldn't say a word if he had been by her side right at that moment- she knew he'd be as speechless as herself. Thinking about her brother, she unconsciously did a very Jonathan-like mannerism- her jaw fell open, and her mouth tried to articulate a 'wow' while her eyes narrowed at the spectacle and her brain just ceased functioning.

Utterly _stumped_.

"Oh…" was all she could stammer, and she almost _heard_ the Medji smiling into her hair. Somehow reading her mind, Ardeth strode forward, towards one of the immense relics of the greatest 19th dynasty Pharaoh, just so that she could reach out and stroke the sacred stone with the tips of her trembling fingers.

"Oh my _God_…" she mumbled to herself, completely in awe of this marvelous temple, letting her bony fingers scrape clumsily over the tough stone, jagged nails getting caught in the crags that the elegant hieroglyphs made. Her squinting eyes traveled up the statue's legs, up and up, until she had to crane her neck back till she almost knocked Ardeth right out with a headbutt to see the face of the daydreaming Prince.

"Can you…?" _Believe it_? Ardeth took a step back and nodded into her frizzly clumps of messy hair. He knew she would react like this- there was practically no need for words. The first time he'd lain his eyes on this sight, he'd had just that ounce of strength left to take in what a privilege he had.

_It seems that that privilege has a down side, though…_

"This…is my brother." Eve caught herself saying, all of a sudden. As she spoke the words, it suddenly felt very _odd_, standing at the gigantic feet of…of someone who had actually been the most memorable king of all, and who she had actually_ known_…

"No, it's not." Ardeth retorted, almost fiercely. Perhaps he'd expected that, too.

But she understood what he meant. She didn't need her mind to trudge back to that horrible almost-lifeless experience. _This is not Nefertiri's existence. Nope. I'm totally in control, now. Yes I am._

She nodded.

"Do you…want to go back?"

It was like he could _sense_ her feelings or something, and it was really starting to freak her out. Not in a bad way, but…it was deranging. She had yet to accept the fact that both of them knew each other _much_ better than what they might let on…

Yet, it was true that this _sight_ of someone who _had been_ her _brother_ was really starting to unnerve her, even more so than what her 'friend' was capable of. Silently…she nodded.

They were both mute. And yet they each complied with the other's wishes.

…_Gods,_ this was strange.

_And _no_, I'm _not_ going to add that it feels right. _

_I'm _not.

Eve fidgeted slightly as the dark, silent Medji turned on his heel and, ignoring the two guards who were still following them like little lapdogs, started the march back to the former Princess's tent.

The silence…it was everything but oppressive, or uncomfortable…which was why she felt so _weird_. It was like, there was no need to talk. There was just acknowledgement, mutual understanding. No questions asked, no raised eyebrows…nothing…

…She had never, _ever_, had anything like that with Rick.

And that was very strange…

**xxx**

The night was draping its sombre indigo-drenched veils over the skies, and the diggers that were still busy trying to get rid of all the bothersome sand to get to the previously hidden temple of Nefertiri still had not rested, still had not stopped in their tiring work. There were only a few guards left outside with their whips coiled around their hands, ready to lash at any disobedient slave if the occasion called for it; nearly all of them had retired to their tents to sleep the night away.

No one really knew the reason why, but Leeu had had one of her odd mood swings again- behaving so nicely that it was slightly frightening, she had lain off most of her favourite workers that she loved to piss off, and she had actually allowed a certain battered prisoner to take care of their newly-awaken Princess for the entire day. Perhaps she suddenly felt like doing everyone a favour by shutting her _damn_ mouth for once. Christ, she had hardly said anything cruel _all day._ That was a major achievement, even it was a little alarming…

So, as a result, the two completely wiped out captives had spent the day getting utterly roasted, in the reincarnated Queen's tent- Ardeth had put to use the few medicinal massages he had learnt as a Medji, and Eve…well…she had just laid on her belly, closing her eyes and grinning stupidly as a completely _marvelous_ feeling of well-being washed over her with each grind of her friend's calloused palm into the constricted muscles of her shoulders.

They had been offered hardly anything to eat all day, save for two goblets of lukewarm water that just tasted like condensed camel's pee- the both of them hardly had the energy left for talking, yet Eve kept urging the Medji to keep her awake _at all times_. He hadn't had the tactlessness to ask why- up till now, when the hour was becoming increasingly late and his eyelids were drooping so much that he thought the skin might slip off the muscle like a wrinkled curtain infront of his fatigued eyes.

He slumped back after having given positively _divine_ massages to the limp soles of Eve's feet (without mentioning that he'd give anything to receive one too), his arms leaning casually over his knees and his glinting black eyes scrutinizing the woman who lay face up on her cheap little mattress, eyes closed and blatant grin still curling her lips up.

Ardeth was still deciding on the most polite way of asking, politely, for nothing but a tiny 2-second-long foot massage, when she spoke;

"Ardeth… I was wondering."

"Yes?"

A sigh. "Well, you know, when you told me you'd 'avenge' me…"

_Oh._ He'd hoped she wouldn't get back to that. …he'd hoped many things, it seemed, and she always went and did precisely what his mind begged her not to.

_Damned reincarnation of my _wife_-to-be._

Eve turned onto her side, stared at him for a moment with a very deep-in-thought expression on her worn out face- before she heaved another, more discreet sigh, and rocked into a cross-legged position, eyes cast downward on her bare feet.

"Well, I was thinking." A pause. "I'm sure you were quoting your old life when you said that, right?"

His right eyebrow quirked ever so slightly as she looked at him sideways, almost suspicious.

"…Maybe I was."

"Yes, well it's quite strange actually- I was wondering whether or not you- you might still be having any thoughts about Nefertiri?" She tilted her head to one side as she suggested this, an almost innocent expression blooming in her hazel eyes.

Ardeth was so taken aback, he could've let himself fall back into the flimsy wall of the tent and bring the whole thing down. He stared at her, almost incredulously.

"What…do you mean?" But they both knew that he understood, really. "If you're saying that somehow, something 'inside' of me might still hold some attraction to her…"

"That's kind of what I mean," Eve nodded, a little unsure as to how to proceed next. "What I mean is…when you, uh..look at me…" Gods,_ this is awkward._ "Do you ever, like…get an impression of deja-vu? Or even a –a vision of Nefertiri in ancient times?"

The way he looked at her with that total _Ardeth_-smile plastered on his face; one corner of his lips curled up, and the other seeming to hesitate, making him look like 'he knows something you don't'…she just knew he was going to come up with a smartass answer that wouldn't help her in the slightest.

"Oh, because you sometimes experience that sort of thing when you're around me?" was what he came up with. Baffled, Eve stared at him for half a second-

"N-no, that's not at all what I meant, I-"

"I take it those 'experiences' aren't very _pleasurable_ to you."

"_Ardeth_!-"

"Well it's understandable, since I have no idea what I looked like in Ancient times-" And then suddenly, he just turned his head and _pierced_ right through her eyes- she was just utterly deflated in her attempt to flap her arms around hissing 'no of course not!', and she only just refrained from reeling back, away from him.

"But…indeed, I remember quite clearly how Nefertiri looked like," he deadpanned, "When they say that the Queens of Egypt require the talents and arts of Isis, I would not hesitate to include Her beauty."

Christ, the way he was _looking_ at her, it was like…like, he didn't mean the compliment to be for the Queen, but for the owner of the alarmed pair of chocolate eyes that he had encaged within his insistent stare.  
"You 'remember' a lot of things about…Nefertiri?" It was so odd, hearing that name in her mouth. _That_ name. The one that she…_despised_ so much.

Ardeth was regarding her rather inquiringly.

"Well, I suppose so…I certainly remember what _Tia_ thought of her. Even if those are not my exact thoughts." It sounded as though her friend was also having trouble trying to articulate his alter ego's name properly in his mouth. He looked away, finally, giving her some breathing space so that she was released from those obscure eyes of his.

"Tia and I…we…let us say that while our ideas are not exactly identical, our feelings are peculiarly similar." There was a minute silence. "Especially in the regards of a certain person." Ardeth added, _ever _so quietly, as if he'd said it to himself just to see if it would shock him. But…it didn't. And Eve had yet to work out the meaning of those two little phrases.

But, when she did…she gaped. And she _was _shocked.

"…!" She couldn't blurt out 'Ardeth!' in her little-girl-blush kind of way, just because this was too _serious_ for that sort of thing. But…she didn't understand. Had Ardeth really said that? Did those words really come from _him_? Did he really _mean_ that? No… it was just, well, Tia. He was talking for Tia. Right?

But…that couldn't mean what she thought it meant. Because, if it did…no, that just wasn't possible.

_Oh, help!_

"B-but," she tried to stammer, the red flush that had risen to her face seeming to light her up like one of those Chinese lanterns, where you insert a light into a bright red sphere of paper. "What I mean is, do you- do you see _N-Nefertiri_ through me? Sometimes?"

Yes, that was bound to explain a few things. It was their ancient attraction, that little spark that their minds refused to let go of, that had confused him. When his eyes would meet hers again, he'd smile an embarrassed smile and say '_oh, sorry, my mistake. I thought we were back in Ancient Egypt._' Or something of the sort.

She looked at him almost expectantly, her thumping heart seeming to drown all other sounds in her ears.

_God_, when had it gotten so _hot_…?

And then, when he next looked at her, his eyes told her a completely different answer than the one she and her fretful mind had managed to concoct.

"Evelyn…"

That voice, _Jesus_ that voice sounded so _tired_, so…fed up, somehow. As if he knew that what he had to say _needed_ to be said, even though neither of them was going to like it. But, then again…there was something else, muddled in that deep tone of his, buried within those tormented obsidian eyes…

…and, right there, it scared her. It _really _scared her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, her lips unconsciously parted, her mind completely lost- and before she knew what was happening, before she could even try to prevent anything, she felt the very warmth slip away from her, her vision robbed brutally from her eyes as the greedy wolf of darkness snatched everything away- the last she knew was that Ardeth was lunging at her, and that she was tumbling backwards, flopping almost lifelessly onto her mattress.

_It seemed that the events of her Ancient life had yet to finish unfurling its gore-filled splendor before her horrified eyes…_

The dark Medji was kneeled above her, almost yelling her name, shaking her shoulders and refraining from slapping her right across her vacant face- there was no way she would wake up before her beloved alter ego would release her from her golden claws, dripping with blood…

…and he had promised her. _Promised_ her not to let her faint, or fall asleep, or tumble into unconsciousness- _whenever, wherever, however. _He stared at her blank eyes almost disbelievingly, somehow willing for her to wake up…_please..._

Or, he would have to beg forgiveness to the Gods themselves.

_For everything._


	15. Flutters of Reality

a&n: She's back! After ten whole months of writing... **nothing**! I would've stayed in my little cocoon of procrastination if it wasn't for you guys, you who re-inspired me to write. -grin- Anyways, I'm absolutely unsatisfied by this comeback-chapter and I don't know what to do to fix it. The ideas were there, the plot was there, but after ten months of using my fingers solely to poke at ice cream and such things instead of typing things, I seem to have forgotten how to write chapters that do not draaaag on, like this one does. I would've wanted this to be worth the time you lovely people have waited, but... y'know, I suck at these chaptered things. Try to enjoy this anyway, hmm? ;)  
special thanks: to the Australian lady of my heart (who knows who she is ♥), to Princess Anck and Anamaria for their lovely signed reviews, and much thanks to Lady Isaacs and ILuvTM. You guys rock!  
advice: You might want to prepare a giganormous mug of super-strong coffee to keep you awake while reading this. Also, if you're the type to listen to music while reading, then I'd recommend _E.S Posthumus_ for this chapter, or maybe _Natacha Atlas._

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter 15  
_Flutters of Reality_**

**xxx**

I'm not always like this  
It's something I become  
A terrible weakness  
In my nature, in my blood  
Save me, oh save me

Save me from myself  
Before I hurt somebody else again

Domino motion jump starts when we touch  
The blackout approaching  
Here it comes now, wish me luck  
It's all over, it's all over

It's all over in a flash  
I can't remember,  
What have I done now?

**xxx**

_Innocence. _

Every one knew what was within a child's docile stare. From the very first gaze, from newborn babe to emotion-stricken mother, to the very last, wide-open, bewildered look upon the reddening world as the premature fangs of death close around the little being.

She rested her black regard upon the young child's face, seeing only pale and grey, the pearl of life singing in the girl's dead eyes long since choked out of existence.

It was particularly cold tonight. Unbridled winds furiously swiped at the cheap curtains that framed a single, small window pane on the far wall, casting ominous shadows across the dirty floors of the room. There was nothing of real value in this peasant home, save for the smiles and joyous laughter that rang out from the living room, just a corridor away from where she and the corpse sat.

She fidgeted. It wasn't like she was used to sitting for elongated periods of time on a low creaky bed made of rotten wood and simple, dirty white woven linen, but the situation happened to call for uncomfort. The child was in her lap, where she had pulled it, and it now lay there as a heavy block of cold flesh and unmoving eyes.

She didn't mind the cold, whether it be from the howling wind or from the plump cheek pressing lightly against her own. She didn't mind the blood staining her hands, nor the harsh, unleveled ground beneath her bare feet. Nor did she care that she was wearing the most common, poor set of peasant clothes wrapped around her slim body, or the feel of lanky strands of hair glued to her face, damp with crimson liquid.

It was all just an endless cycle of events now, anyway.

With an emotionless sigh, she slicked back some of the child's long, dull brown hair, uncovering the sweet plump face and the smooth, unaged skin.

Her eyes were hard, as well as her touch. She handled the child rather ungently as she tucked her back into the creaking cot, folding the thin covers over the body with swift fluidity, her stained hands never even brushing against the body as she pulled the covers up to the little girl's chin.

She paused. Swallowed, slightly. She bent over the child, automatically holding back her long hair with one hand.

And she kissed the child's cold forehead.

"Sleep well, _mutankagara._"

**xxx**

_I had a dream, my love. It's been such a long while since my mind displayed such terrible sadness to me in the dead of night… would you care to know what it was about?_

_I don't suppose you do. I don't suppose you can even hear me. _

_No matter. It was so cold, my love. It was dark, and it was grey, and sombre like some deep abyss. And there was no one, no one at all, nothing… save for the wind and the whispers of memories that passed through the few gaps in the walls. I was so, so lonely in there, my darling. I had nothing to hear, to feel, nothing to see or even touch, without counting the cold floor. _

_And then she came. She was so full of life, my love. She was happy and radiant, and she emanated such warmth that it was almost unbearable. She _was_ love, at least the embodiment of it. She was all smiles and joy and red and gold- and she smelt of the ocean breeze, draped in silk and silver glimmers. She passed by me, so close, the ends of her dress brushed across my face, my skin…her scent clouded around me, her feet glided across the floor almost touching me. _

_But…she didn't touch me. She was so close. She didn't touch me. She started to dance, laughing, twisting around and letting her silken garments fly like ghostly companions around her sailing arms- she was inviting me, seducing me, she was so _unbearably_ beautiful… _

_I tried to reach out to her, but she danced around my hands almost playfully, like someone who knows exactly what you desire and displays it before you before snatching it away just as swiftly. _

_But then…it began to get violent, my love. You see, I… _wanted_ her. I grabbed at her with more insistence, and she let my fingers grasp and brush through the silken folds of her dress, the fiery curls of her hair. But I wanted more… I would not be satisfied. Claws grew on the ends of my fingers, fire began to arise from the perfect footprints that she left behind her. I _consumed_ her, I watched her scream and die and _bleed _as I soiled her skin, as I tore at her perfection, at her innocent charm. _

_And then I…_

_And then…_

_And then I was crying, my love. _

…_I was… _

**xxx**

"…Nefer?"

The woman looked up in slight surprise, finally snapped back to reality.

"Are you listening?"

…She nodded. A smile whispered across her thin lips as her eyes flicked back down to her meal.

Her fingers were coiled around a delicious piece of cooked meat, dripping with rich sauce, and fuming with the most delectable of scents- but she was not eating it. She was sitting at the low table with her legs crossed under her seat like a child, eyes dreamily averted and elbows slung carelessly on the smooth surface of the table. If one were to look at her, the way she was slumped and her eyes were half open, one would probably think that she was a peasant of some sort- there was no way a noble woman would ever act this way. Degrading and ungraceful. It was scandalous…

…or so the others thought. She would've snorted indignantly at that. They could think what they wanted; to her, there was no coded way of acting that was obliged when eating with one's own brother.

They were in one of the hundreds of spacious halls of the palace, flanked by humongous pillars and breath taking masterpieces of hieroglyphs and glorious scenes of battles- but those were hardly even glanced at any more, since brother and sister had long since tired of the many beautiful works of art that graced the palace walls. As if aware of being so carelessly ignored, the figures in the walls seemed to glare at them with their thick kohl-rimmed eyes, their stone arms and proud torsos seeming to stretch a little more, so as to attract attention once more.

Decorative curtains flapped in the breezes that seeped into the room, hung up between the pillars and brushing the floor with their translucent layers. None of them managed to even touch the modest table that stood in the centre of the room, occupied by only two members of the royal court.

Rameses had been doing _all_ the talking…which was rather unusual. His piercing eyes were locked on the beautiful creature that sat beside him and who was, unlike him, not enjoying the lovely food that steamed in her plate.

"Nefer, my darling. You've not been overly talkative in the past days, I must say…" he coaxed, slightly leaning into her side with a sly grin on his almost boyish face as he chewed on a bit of meat.

"Oh, don't do that," Nefertiri groaned, moving away from him. "You smell like caged hyenas."

Rameses laughed a hearty laugh, picking another piece of meat from his own plate and obediently moving away from her.

"Not overly talkative, but I think I may come to prefer it that way," he smiled, looking down at his older sister with an adoring glimmer in his obsidian eyes.

She still would not look at him, or even smile- which made him loose his own joy almost instantly.

"Dear sister, I'm afraid your gloominess is rather infectious. You're going to have to get some cheer in you before it gets to everyone." He was saying with slight concern, while she was picking very daintily at her food, gnawing on a minute piece of boar flesh like a hesitant little child.

"Oh please, spare me," she sighed carelessly. Rameses tore through a piece of meat like some starved creature, teeth slicing mercilessly through the food, sauce dripping from his lips and splattering on his golden platter. She tried very hard not to look to the side, concentrating on the miserable bit of food mingled in her fingers.

"…Why did you send for me, anyways?" she asked him at length, carefully nibbling on the very edge of her food.

Rameses gave a derisive snort, chomping on his meat a little too noisily.

"Always straight to the point with you," he said, "Though I'm afraid I was planning to keep the best for the end… but I'm not sure that you've really enjoyed anything up till now."

Nefertiri seemed to force herself to look apologetic. "Oh, I have, really."

"Spare yourself the effort, you know you never fool me, my love," Rameses smiled at her again, and then seemed to take on a softer expression. "Tell me, what's been troubling you lately?"

She fidgeted. "Nothing of your concern."  
"Oh but it is, I'm sure… it is of my concern if I see you always with that morose expression on your beautiful face, and can do nothing to appease you," The young prince retorted, "_Please_ tell me, I wouldn't want you to look like some glum mummy before you actually become one."

Nefertiri rolled her eyes, and playfully jabbed a finger at her brother's side as a vengeance, making him double over exaggeratedly. He was laughing again, and she almost frowned in distaste, realizing that she was actually yearning for a bit of that blissful joy that was shining in her brother's deep eyes.

He looked at her pleadingly, his eyes wide and moist almost like the cute stare of a tiny puppy begging for a bit of food.

She sighed. Thinking about it, she admitted that it _was_ of his concern… in a way.

"It's about…father's death."

Rameses looked suddenly stricken. It wouldn't have looked any different if a bolt of lightening had hit him right then and there.

"Ah. Right."

"Do you…do you remember our pact? The decision we made after his murder?" Her voice was very faint, as if carried to his ears on the softest of breezes. It was not like her at all to be so…_withdrawn_. The young prince frowned.

"…Pact?" He searched his memories for a few seconds, before remembering that one, impossibly sorrowful night. And the mission that they had agreed she would take out.

He gasped. _He had forgotten. _For him, it seemed life had moved on… it had been two years since their father's death, and he had found the friendly threads that life had offered him to hang onto. He had survived the crash of his emotions, and now it seemed he only had wistful thoughts for the dead Pharaoh. Nothing overly sad or heart breaking; that time had passed. For him, anyway.

But he would say nothing of this to his beloved sister, not if he had supported her all his life and always stuck by her side.

"Yes, I remember," His words sounded heavy. "Go on."

"Well I…" She seemed so _fragile_, it was almost frightening. Like she was possessed or something. Rameses frowned down at her, curling a hand around her shoulder, the soft fabric of her dress snagging between his fingers.

"I'm tired of the nights, brother. I'm tired of the blood, the hate, all the tears and the muted screams." She hung her head. Defeated. "I will finish it, I will, but…I…"

"Nefer--" Rameses murmured gently, still frowning in concern, leaning towards her so that his lips almost touched the sensitive skin just beyond her ear.

"Gods I wish you wouldn't see this pathetic side of me," she suddenly tried to gather herself again, turning her face up so that she was looking at him- and in doing so, her mouth were so close to his own; she could almost feel his intake of breath, the blood pulsing through his thin lips. Her eyes widened helplessly.

"Nefer, my dear sister…" he whispered, so infuriatingly close. "The real reason I sent for you, was to ask you…"

She couldn't move. The masculine, almost beastly scent about him invaded her senses, repulsing her, but not as thoroughly as she would've liked- she found herself frozen, completely at his mercy, and she could not even try to collect her scattered feelings as he leaned into her even _closer_.

His hot breath brushed against her open mouth, and she inwardly recoiled, inwardly screamed at him to pull away. But he couldn't hear her. _He never could hear her._

"Will you take me as your Pharaoh, dear sister…?"

"Rameses--" She hadn't realized that tears were leaking from the sides of her blurred eyes, and were dripping down her cheeks- cheeks that became acquainted with the gentle fingers of her own brother. He caught her lips with his mouth, softly at first, until the kiss grew with such unrestrained passion that she could not even muster the strength to shove him away. Her balled fists knocked powerlessly against his chest, and her eyes darted to the ceiling desperately, but she could not do anything more- she didn't want to enjoy his touch, she didn't want to succumb to his will like some weak little street whore, but… she still _did_.

Then, just as she caught herself arching back her neck to meet his lips and he was caressing her skin so _lovingly_, she found she could not take any more without bursting, or simply dying. She groaned into his mouth, before managing to say unintelligibly, "Oh, you_ pig_," against his lips, with such venom in her voice that he froze almost instantly, drawing back to study her face with a pained look in his eyes.

"You _disgust_ me," she hissed hatefully between her tears, managing to sound so hateful that his own eyes narrowed dangerously. She wiped her lips with an ungraceful swipe of her hand, before regaining her senses and screaming all-out at him.

"What in the name of the Gods is wrong with you!? I'm your sister, Bes be damned!" Her hands gripped the arms of her chair with such force that one would think the frail wood would snap between her pale fingers.

"I don't see where the problem is?" Rameses said with an unnaturally neutral tone. "Have you not seen hundreds of other Pharaohs wedding their sisters? There is absolutely nothing wrong with that and you know it!"

"Rameses!" There was an unnatural…_hurt_… glimmering in those dark eyes of hers. She looked like she wanted to spit right in his face in utter distaste. "Have we not gone through with this already? Let Isis have her brother if She wishes, let Her love him eternally and give him a son and cry a million dynasties over his death. They are DEITIES, my love, IDEALS. People wish to act like them and be revered for it- well, let them! Do you not understand that I am unlike those _sheep_? Do you not understand that there are not two people in this living world who can receive that kind of love from me?"

He knew who she was speaking of. His heart tightened hatefully as the words tumbled out, and he sucked in a breath, making her pause in her ranting.

"Sister we are _not_ talking about you committing adultery here." Yes. He was just going to try to make her choose _him_ over that- that poor, weak little narcissist fool of a man who strode across the halls of the palace as if he were in the sandals of the Pharaoh himself.

Which, to the young prince, was something that he had come to fear.

"Oh? Then what _is_ adultery, if not loving two men at the same time?" He could swear to the Gods that this beautiful creature sitting next to him was going to burn holes through his eyeballs at this rate. "You _know_ whom I have fallen for, you _know_. So stop trying to bribe me. I will never- _never_- have you, my love, and you know that too."

He was snarling. Almost a perfect (though male) reincarnation of Ammut herself- though his dear sister was still far from being intimidated. "I am the eldest son of our sacred father, and appointed as Prince Regent by his person, Anubis grant him rest. By rights you shouldn't even be the one _choosing_."

"Perhaps," she whispered with a vicious forked tongue, "But I am right in saying that _you_ can still choose. Either you wed me, and live with your Queen being a cold unlovable statue sitting at your side, mouth and legs closed to all. _Or_ you can wed Henutmire, and with her, I'm sure you can get yourself a good _fuck_ every other night if that's what you wan-"

The last word had not even left her mouth when he struck her hard across her cheek- the one that he had previously laid a hand over with such care, such _love_.

"Don't you _dare_ speak to me with such tones," he hissed, before noticing that one of the slaves that were stationed around the room had whipped out a knife and scuttled to Nefertiri's side, eyeing him with a protective warning in his dull slave eyes.

Her face still averted in pain, Nefertiri held up a shaking hand to halt the loyal little slave's actions; his grey eyes gleaming with suspicion, the starved man backed away slowly toward the wall obediently, tucking the knife away under the dirty folds of his robe.

Neither of them had enough decency to breath a single word into the icy atmosphere, just to shatter the tension and relieve them both. Neither told the other that they were sorry, or that they regretted their actions.

Rameses stood briskly, his light wooden chair skittering across the smooth floors behind him, and walked away, his long strides trembling slightly with the reminiscent fury that _she_ had caused. How _dare_ she think so lowly of him, allowing herself to even _consider_ the thought of him and Henutmire being, well, together? How _dare_ she reject him so, so venomously and so terribly lacking tact… she could have refused but in a wholly civilized way, they both knew that.

He almost scoffed as he flew angrily towards the high archway that led out of the hall, and into an open corridor that gave on one of the small palace gardens. No, it was almost _known_ that Nefertiri, direct descendant of the son of Ra, daughter of the great Lord of the two Kingdoms, only had that much affection to give; and it was all reserved to that undeserving creature whose sole purpose was to warm her bed during those cold, lonely nights. So sure, perhaps IT had been useful in the past, politically speaking. But IT had nothing to do now in the palace, skulking around like some shady character, poking his nose into affairs that did not even concern him and pretending to know what he was about. Why could the man not leave his sister be? He was- he was poisoning her, staying among offspring of the Deities themselves, completely uninvited.

It was a fact. It was not jealousy.

That's just the way it was.

"Rameses!"

That's just how things worked with her.

Starting right from the beginning- right from when they both were little children, with roses in their eyes and their minds free of the scars that knowledge left behind.

He stopped in his tracks, hanging his head- not in defeat, but in shame that he should still obey the command of one who hurt him so, so much, and so often; and who did not even realize it.

The great prince of Egypt heard his beloved sister get up slowly, graciously, from her chair. He could almost sense ripples in the tense air as her hands trembled, a modest distance away from him. Though why she seemed a little nervous, he could not tell.

"……brother, you know I love you dearly."

He simply waited. She watched his well-toned back warily, opening her mouth and revising her words cautiously. If she needed to be in anyone's good books, they had to be his, at all costs. So…

"You would take up a harem, and have a hundred children with fifty different wives…" So came the need to lie and keep her own emotions locked up and guarded.

"But you would be above them _all_," Rameses retorted hotly, spinning around to walk right up to his sister, back tracking across the hall. His long strides were watched suspiciously by a dozen pairs of beady, sunken eyes. "You would be the lady of sacred blood, sitting at my side, a figure that all the women of Egypt would die to be like. You would be worshipped; and looked upon with the love and respect that the earth-dwelling form of Hathor would receive."

"I don't care. There would still be others." Her expression was so cold that she could've made snow fall upon the sun-blessed deserts of Egypt. "I can't live with someone who shares his love and his bed with another, let alone a _flock_ of others; you know I cannot."

"Nefer, my dear sister…" His hands dropped upon her shoulders, and she did not avert her dark eyes. He seemed to be trapped in an imaginary blizzard, captured within that stare. Closing his mouth, he tried to think up of the right words to say, if he could just try to convince her…just try a little harder…just-

"I can_not_."

"It would not be _love_, they would just exist for the sake of _children_," He gave a tentative laugh. "I suppose we can't exactly have a hundred children by ourselves, hm?"

The Gods seemed to have robbed her of the ability to smile. And if she would have tried, it wouldn't have even touched her eyes at all, so in the end it was of no consequence. She looked at him almost with pity shining in her gaze- she'd decided that her little brother would not believe that she didn't love him as he loved her. _Fraternity_ was what she felt. Him…well, he felt something far more… _concupiscent, _and she just didn't need that. She didn't _want_ that.

It was her brother, after all.

_And…_

When he had left the hall, queen Nefertiri laid a hand on her slightly bulging lower belly, her head bowing almost to the point where she could rest her chin on her collarbone. He had not even noticed. Well, she hadn't told anyone yet…

…and then, thinking about what was to come, that was when she finally smiled. Just a small, timid quirk of the lips, but still.

What a peculiar feeling…

**XXX**

**And then, as the red Sun sank into the far Western horizon…**

**She, the Devourer of Souls…**

**She, the Eater of Hearts…**

**She, the Dweller in Amenty…**

**The Lady of Great Death**

**Carried Life within her bowels**

**Carried a heart within her bosom.**

**And then, as the golden Sun rose in the far Eastern horizon…**

**She, the Devourer of Souls…**

**She, the Eater of Hearts…**

**She, the Dweller in Amenty…**

**The Lady of Great Death**

**Carried tears of regret within her eyes**

**And spilled them upon the feet of Life**

**Vainly hoping for one last Redemption.**

**XXX**

A lion was sprawled out in a wholly regal manner over an intricately designed sofa, claws slung over its rested face and slanted eyes shut, as if in some lazy dream.

She crept closer to it, padding cautiously across the spacious room, eyes darting around herself, taking in the low ceiling and glorious golden statues growling at her from all sides. She had to admit, she had never felt so scared in her entire life- here she was, in the very same room as a savage creature of the desert, regarded upon by dozens of hard glass eyes and at the mercy of all their owners.

She suppressed a shiver- and her dirty bare feet tottered to a halt in front of the sofa that was pushed up against the far wall. Now, all she had to do was… lay a finger upon that sacred creature, and awaken it without arousing its wrath. Which was, quite simply, mission impossible.

Her heart hammered away, trapped behind her teenage bosom- she reached out a trembling arm, lanky hair falling over her shoulders and partially covering her gaunt face.

"Y-your Greatn-ness-" she stammered, fingertips just brushing against the lion's hard, muscular shoulder.

In an instant the ferocious creature gave a snarl from beneath its outdrawn claws, fine enamel glinting menacingly.

"Do restrain from dirtying my skin with those bony fingers of yours. I'd rather you stop poking people that could have your head sliced just by wishing it, and go cook something instead." It growled, and she swore that her heart had a moment of suspension upon hearing words from the grandson of Ra himself. She gulped in air for a few awkward seconds, before gathering enough breath and courage to say something actually intelligible. She had been taught what to say to walking talking _deities_ anyway.

"My Lord, I beg your forgiveness for coming to d-disturb you, great son of-"

"Do not stand there and _beg_ for anything, fool, you'll get us nowhere," Rameses spat, still not withdrawing his arm from his face, where he had carelessly thrown it to get protection from the blazing sunlight pouring through the windows. "I doubt the Queen would have so little decency as to send one meager girl to come and alert me of something. Who sent you and what is your business." His words were careless, and even though she was far from used to being treated politely, she was rather shocked that he didn't even take his _arm_ away from his mouth. Fingers twitching, she had the sudden urge to take that bronze, jeweled forearm of his and yank it away from his face- though she'd probably get her arm and Osiris-knows-what else mutilated for it.

She gulped. She had to accept it. Though it _was_ rather unfair that, regardless of her being new, she was ordered to go see the most important people of Egypt.

"Well, Priest erm Amun-khemet of the Temple of Min wishes to speak with you."

"Ooh, I am to be graced by the presence of Priest _Erm_? How grand. Well you can just let him rot outside the door and go raid his house while he's busy dying of starvation. Now. Get. Out."

He was _so_ not funny. Was she supposed to laugh, or would it offend him if she didn't? Well, they could stuff their teachings for all she cared. He just was not funny, and she just was not a naïve little slave girl to be trodden on like all the others.

"I'm afraid Priest Amun-_Khemet_ wishes to see you now. It's urgent apparently. My deepest apologies for not having the permission to follow your orders and let my masters 'rot' outside of palace doors." She took such care in articulating her words that she didn't even realize how terribly _snobby_ she sounded, until it was too late.

Her heart froze- they were going to _murder_ her…

The young prince's face didn't even twitch a muscle for the next unbearable 30 seconds. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that she had shut her _damn_ prissy little mouth for once and kept her measly rebel thoughts to herself, starting to think that that door some way behind her was starting to look real friendly…

But then, Rameses did the most unexpected thing- he actually _laughed_. The slave girl was so taken aback she could've fallen flat on her butt in astonishment. She had made royalty _laugh_! Something was indeed wrong with the world today.

"My, aren't we feisty this morning," The young prince smiled, making her heartbeat triple till the thunderous drone almost drowned her senses. He swung his arm off his face, at _last_, and proceeded to heaving himself up into a sitting position, legs wide apart and elbows leaning against his knees. He looked _directly_ at her.

_Oh my God. _Now was when he blasted her with whatever absurdly powerful incantations he had inherited from the Gods and made her into lioness excrements. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself…

…for a caress.

Blink blink.

"Well, well. There's nothing more beautiful than a _slave_, born and bred for utter loyalty and discipline, disturbing a kinsman of Ra in the early morning and irritating him with petty disobediences, like there is nothing more important than servant rebellion happening in the outer world."

…now was the time to start melting.

She threw herself at the man's bare feet, speaking words that were not her own- how she was sorry, and how she would accept any kind of beating that he would decide to punish her with for such misplaced actions.

But… he was laughing again.

"Keh. I thought so."

And then there was a sailing foot, and a late reflex- and then she found that she sprawled out on the floor in the most undignified of positions, her jaw most definitely dislocated and a painful throb rippling throughout her entire skull.

_Bastard. Bastard!_

"Lead your precious priest in, what do you _think_? I have no tolerance for the likes of you lifeless little slaves. Snivel over someone else's feet if you must, just stop making an already bad morning turn even more rotten."

Oh, yes, he might strain a vocal cord while shouting at his slaves, and claim it to be a bad morning- whilst she had to bear talking to ungrateful _pigs_ like himself who did not even deserve to sit on the throne of the King of kings—

Gods, they had drummed it into her head. These were _immortal people_ she was taking care of. She did what she was told or she became worthless meat for whatever sick buyers there were out there.

So, gathering up her flimsy skirt and trying to hide her modesty as best she could, she got up and hurried to the doorway, bowing her head to the waiting priest as a signal that he could go in.

" 'An already bad morning', your Greatness?" echoed the priest as he strode in proudly, bowing deeply before the Prince as a greeting.

"Is it that pitiful High Priest who sends you, to try and force me into coming to the ceremony?" Rameses sighed, running over the priest's next words rather rudely. Amun-Khemet did not regain his posture, his respect for the prince much to deep to actually stare him in the eye…unlike that filthy slave girl, who would undoubtedly get beaten later on.

"I'm afraid so. They wish for you to attend. After all the entire city is out celebrating in the streets of Thebes at this very hour- I do not see why you fail to see rejoicement in these events." The priest spoke grand words, still gracing royalty's eyes with the shining orb of his shaved scalp, though if his coal-hued eyes would've slipped up but a little higher than where they currently were - resting safely on the splendid, snug-looking golden thong that was wedged between Rameses' toes – he would've noticed that dull gleam of indifference in the prince's eyes as they observed him rather coolly.

"They are fools to celebrate the coronation of one poor, wretched fraud," The feral words tumbling from his mouth bore such anger that the poor priest found himself standing on very awkward grounds indeed- here he was, listening to the greatest of sons of Egypt carelessly pouring cutting words upon the feet of the man who would very soon be granted the power of Pharaoh by the will of the Gods themselves… and it wasn't like he could simply play brave and stand up for his future king. No, he dreaded to even think what Rameses could do to someone that irritated him just with a flick of his jeweled finger- the new Pharaoh might be on the verge of becoming undeniably mighty, but the palace was still Rameses's territory… at least, till the end of the ceremony. After that, after the Pharaoh would take up his claim for power over the lands and the world lying dormant beneath, Rameses would probably fade out of the limestone archives for a while. Who knew what Nefertiri wanted to do with him once he was no longer of any use to her or to the royal couple?

All the while, the little slave girl had had her back pressed against the closed doors, ears open to their discussion. It occurred to her that the prince visibly profited of whatever mind-bogglingly intimidating act he had learned from his positively charming family. How she wished she could've been granted with the same kind of crazy, inescapable aura of power that would made even the most important people she could think of cower and collapse to their knees at a fifty-metre radius…

But, who was she to dream such things- haggard as she was, with her scabby knees knocking together as she impatiently waited for her master to finish his business. Her nagging conscious continuously reminded her that if she hadn't had these pathetic birth rights that branded her as slave she could be doing something far, far more inspiring than standing around listening to a child-like prince's bickering. She almost scoffed at that- she really couldn't afford to be so haughty and self-confident, not when her fabulous destiny resembled a horizonless stretch of mopping palace floors and scraping clots of grimy foot-sweat depositions out of grooves in floor tiles.

Still, how desperately she wished to be outside instead of inside the stuffy palace- and not just today, she meant all of those heat-cursed days that she had to struggle through, with her dirty slave garb and blistered hands. It was mental torture to climb endless, immaculate stairways and trek across lengths upon lengths of narrow corridors with high ceilings and walls that were marred with magnificent carvings that she couldn't (and didn't even care to) see since she was almost always weighed down by a bucket of fresh, just-washed linen sheets, balanced on a little cushion plopped on the top of her head. Or on other occasions when she was ordered to escort priests and other people of ridiculous importance around, she wasn't allowed to look anywhere but the floor.

Absurd protocol. She sighed, her mind drowning in boredom, picking at a scab while carelessly letting her thoughts run amok. What else was there to do, while she was stuck in here listening to the sounds of joyous celebration and shrill screams of excitement drifting in through the windows, accompanied by wave upon wave of blasting ceremonial horns? She imagined herself out there already, jumping about in the midst of the overexcited crowd, yelling in people's ears to see who could heave her up onto their shoulders so that she'd get a clearer view of the royal parade, in its entire golden, dazzling splendor. Nothing but the sound of the heavy cart wheels creaking and churning up clouds of sand as they grudgingly ploughed on through the crowd-choked streets of Thebes made her imagination bubble out of control in her head, until she was sure that glitter was spurting out of her ears.

All of a sudden there was a violent crash in the room that she was standing outside of- someone had flung down a decorative brass bowl on the limestone tiles in their fury. The slave girl clutched at her heart, hastily recovering from her sky-high jump that the unexpected noise had provoked and feeling as though the quivering sound of the brass object spinning on itself was sending uncomfortable ripples through her. She winced as she heard the great Prince raise his voice to the high Heavens, shouting all-out at her poor master, who was most probably the target of the demigod's sudden wrath. Just as the thought was crossing her mind, the doors suddenly burst open and slammed against the walls, hinges straining, all discretion long forgotten. She had just the time to let her jaw drop open, to jump out of the way, to snap her head from the door to the ground as her eyes followed the graceless descent of her master as he hurtled to the ground. He'd been pushed right into the closed double doors- he hadn't had the time to catch his balance and stay on his feet. Instead he crumpled to the floor, the linen folds of his robes flying wildly up his legs, revealing his shaved calves and knobbly knees. His wrinkled hands lingered around his head in vain protection, the curled fingers resembling old roots, poking at the shining skin of his scalp.

The slave girl's own hands had flown to her mouth, eyes wide, mind reeling. People didn't fling _priests_ around like this. People didn't even touch priests, full stop. And, said priests had never looked this… pitiful. It almost shocked her, seeing her master all huddled up in the dust of the passageway.

But, it wasn't mere _people_. It was the great Prince. It was the marvelous grandson of He who bears Heterochromatic Eyes, and all that crap. Just because of his pompous lineage, Rameses II had the right to openly bully a humble servitor of the Gods who was doing nothing but his job.

The slave girl's teeth ground together as she scrabbled to her master's side, hurriedly attending to his disheveled robes and helping the elderly man into a seated position, one hand on his upper back and the other clutching his gnarled hand. The root-like fingers coiled tightly around her hand, and she nearly shivered at the roughness of his skin against hers. She was touching hands that had tended to embodiments of the Gods themselves- this intimidated her much more than the raging footsteps of the Prince, who were nearing the floor-bound couple at an unnerving speed.

In the millisecond that followed, the slave girl found herself cowering under the engulfing shadow of Rameses the Great in person, his twitching toes at a mere centimeter from her folded legs, and his crotch at an undesirable distance from her face- but she dared not move a muscle, for fear of further rousing his anger. He might be an uncivilized bastard, and his name would lose a good deal of importance after today, but he was still a _damn_ scary person to have towering above you with eyes glowing crimson like that. Her heart was in her mouth as she tried hard to keep her eyes on the gnarled roots that were coiled around her hand, pretending that she was holding a little piece of sanctuary all to herself.

"You," started the Prince, jabbing a finger at the pathetic couple cowering at his feet, "You have no right to lecture me. You have no right whatsoever. So the crowd is happy! So today is an auspicious day! The Gods have offered signs of acceptance, you say? Do you know who I _am_, you miserable little wretch? Do you not know that it is the Gods them_selves_ that birthed me? I should know when they, Blessed Ones, are satisfied. I am their grandson, appointed here on this Earth! These kingdoms should have come to ME, by rights!"  
His arms were out, wide open, as if to mimic embracing the mesmerizing entirety of his power. His face had been pointed up at the ceiling, face crumpled in rage, eyes sparking with malice- in one downward sweep of his naked chin he turned his incandescent gaze to the Priest, who had broken out of his slave's sweaty grip and had gathered his limbs into a deep, deep bow, his forehead in the dust. He could've kissed the Prince's feet, had he moved his head but an inch forwards.

"It is not to me that you should offer the grace of your lectures, old man," spat Rameses, sarcasm dripping from his words and splashing onto the Priest's inclined head like acid, "How about going to see those who wrote up the official papers? The papers stating that Seti I made me prince Regent? Hm? You know, the man for whom you pitiful priests sacrificed your _cocks_ and any manly pride you once possessed- I mean, look at you. You have no virility. You have no dignity left. You just try to compensate for this with your petty teachings- my friend," A bitter laugh marred his words, "I'm not even sure why I'm bothering with you. My dear sister probably just fucked a few politicians in order to get her lover on the throne. It's as simple as that. You might try to pour your divine interventions everywhere in order to make things look grand- the only thing that I see around here that bears a semblance of grandeur is the way the new royal couple have humiliated me. Yes, my friend, they have severely humiliated me. And I most certainly will not stand by and watch this sickening parody continue."

He knelt before the Priest of Min, curling two fingers around the old man's ear and yanking back the feeble flesh in order to force the Priest to look up at him.

"Oh yes, mark my words," he spat, "I will not let this carry on. I will restore the dignity of the Royal family."

Then…

There was finally a pause. The young Prince seemed to have run out of steam, at long last. His eyes darted to the Priest's ear and he quickly let go of it, looking as though he'd been touching something particularly slimy.

The Prince set his furious gaze one last time on the Priest's quivering form before he got back on his feet, regally turning his back to the two vastly inferior beings.

"The sight of you hurts my eyes," said he, his voice lofty and exasperated, as if he'd worn himself out with his ostentatious antics. He strode back into his chamber, curling his Henna-patterned hands around the edges of the doors and throwing over his shoulder a vague "Dismissed" before slamming the doors shut behind him with such force that the sound reverberated in the corridor like a detonation.

The Priest looked deeply shaken. He had his chin tucked into his collarbone as he heaved himself to his feet, impatiently batting away the helpful hands that his slave selflessly offered. Lines of indignation carving themselves on the aged skin of his face, the Priest stood quivering before the closed double doors, his lips formulating various words that he dared not give a voice to.

"Utter blasphemy!" He shouted to the double doors when he could no longer contain his anger, speaking for his sacred Brotherhood, possibly speaking for the outraged Gods themselves.

In return, the Prince on the other side of the double doors lazily shouted something along the lines of sucking a particular part of said Royalty's anatomy.  
Shocked beyond description, the Priest muttered profanities under his breath as he violently twirled on himself, sweeping down the corridor. His guide scampered after him frantically, her eyes still as wide as platters. He found himself staring at her thoughtfully as she half-walked half-jogged to keep up with his furious strides. She was quite a beauty, in a ravaged sort of way. Her hair fell in a static mess on her bony shoulders, and her thick fringe partially hid deep black eyes that looked like black buttons pressed into a perfectly oval face. She wore nothing but a flimsy skirt and a string around her neck bearing a single wonky pearl, worthless of course. Her honey coloured skin stretched pitifully over jutting out ribs and a concave stomach, but the clenched fists at her sides and the passionate glint in her eye told an entirely different story than the one her frail frame would have people believe.

He had heard her words to Rameses. At the time he had thought she was simply insolent and that he'd have to get someone to beat some discipline into her, but now he found that he admired the little mutineer. He decided to get back at the Prince in his own way.

They arrived at the top of the stairs that lead to the lower floors. The corridor that they'd been walking across veered sharply to the left, plunging into the left wall and digging deeper into the heart of the palace. This was the road that the Priest had to take if he wished to attend to his other business. He stopped the slave girl at the top of the stairs, wrapping his wrinkled fingers around her shoulder and turning her so that they were face to face.

"We part here," he said in a low voice, stating the obvious. They had had no complicity whatsoever before today, so the slave girl had no idea why he was suddenly speaking in hushed tones to her as if they were accomplices of some sort. "I take it you are unallowed to leave this palace without permission." She nodded, still somewhat befuzzled. "I'm giving you permission, then. Go out to the parade and enjoy yourself. Take your slave friends with you if you like." He plunged a hand into his robes and tugged out a little brown satchel, holding it by the string that secured the opening. Letting it fall into the slave girl's shaking hands, he gave her a small smile and let his other hand slide off of her shoulder.

"If you were saving up to buy your freedom, I suppose these coins will boost your savings a little. Thank you for your guidance, young lady."

And then he was gone. Disappeared in the abyss of the corridor in a white whirlwind of robes.

The girl could've sworn that she'd stayed on the top of those stairs for at least ten minutes, mouth gaping in shock. The coins weighed in her cupped hands, and she didn't dare cast a look upon them, lest the little satchel should dissipate from her palms as swiftly a mirage. Her bare foot scraped against the edge of the stair, daring her to move, daring her to do as the Priest had told her.

And then, after the initial shock had been replaced by an uncontrollable burst of excitement, she was running. Running down the stairs, running along the corridors, whipping past trudging slaves and confused dignitaries, running as fast as her lanky legs would carry her towards the part of the slave quarters that she inhabited. It was a single corridor in the ground level of the palace, a door in the wall opening on a spacious room whose floor was cluttered with straw mats and thin blankets, bowls and various other scavenged objects. There were many other rooms of the sort in the palace, but this was the one where she slept and where she had her friends- the slaves that she'd come to consider as family.

She burst into the room, not expecting to find many slaves since most were at work in the halls or in the kitchens. There were twelve slaves pottering around in the room, apparently just passing by, and they all whipped their heads to the door as the grinning bushy-haired girl burst in on them, brandishing the satchel of coins.

"The parade is ours," was what she declared, before she was buried underneath the screaming bodies of her friends. They all contemplated the satchel, poking it, asking her how much was in it, until one of them asked her if she was serious about the parade.

"Well, if you don't want to arrive when they're rolling up the mats and stuffing the statues back in the Temples, I suggest we get our asses out of here right this minute," the slave girl breathed, giving the satchel to one of her friends who had a pocket. "We have the permission of priest Amun-Khemet. Now let's get the hell out of here!"

There were many exits to the great palace, and the little handful of slaves couldn't possibly just emerge out of the colossal front gates like bats out of the Underworld.

They filed out of what one could qualify as a backdoor, one made specially for the slaves whenever they were to go to market and buy various things for their lazy masters. The thirteen slaves positively flew out of this backdoor, emerging in a deserted street. They coursed the avenues of Thebes, miniature sand devils playing mischievously around their sprinting feet, turning a corner here, diving into a shadowy backstreet there-

And then they were in it.

They stumbled upon the parade, and as soon as they got to the crowd, they were swallowed up by it like little mice disappearing into the twisting bowels of a particularly hungry, dancing serpent of bronze and white hues.

The street in which the parade was happening cut through Thebes like a wide river of paved tiles and sand. On its eastern side was a row of luxurious mudbrick houses, behind which towered the walls and statues that served as protection for the Royal palace beyond. On its western side opened the endless small streets of Thebes and its houses, its marketplaces, its minor temples. This street was mostly used for ceremonial parades such as this one- or, more often, parades of various statues of the Gods.

History had probably never seen such a parade as the one that took place on this day, though.

Both sides of the street were completely choked with screaming people, men and women, all trampling each other to try and get a better view. Their gleeful faces and inky hair were freckled with rose coloured petals- a hail of soft confetti was falling from the high windows of the houses that flanked the street. Cutting through the crowd, marching along the street, was a long line of men wearing soldier garb, women cart-wheeling and whirling around and around in tantalizing dances, guided by the silvery ring of castanets and the steady, pounding rhythm of drums. There were priests, some holding ceremonial statues, others symbolical artifacts. Some were even supporting altars on which stood statues of Wadjet and her sister Nekhbet, protectors of the Pharaoh, or radiant statues of Osiris and Isis, holding hands in eternal fidelity. And finally, at the very end of the line, there were the black-clad warriors of the Pharaoh atop beautiful horses, all bearing intricately decorated tack- ebony plumes and tinkling bells bobbed about on the edges of the saddles, the headpieces of the bridles.

But, the most spectacular 'guest' of this parade was seated atop a golden throne, a magnificent sedan chair whose shine rivaled that of the great disc of Ra itself. His hands were crossed on his chest but his fingers gripped air- his heavily outlined eyes stared ahead in a hard kind of way, completely ignoring the absolute chaos that seemed to reign supreme all around him. His feet were firmly planted on the footrest of the sedan chair, as if engulfed in molten fire as the sun made the golden surface burst to life with a blinding white resplendence. A torrent of raven hair fell upon his shoulders, a small golden headband serving as a temporary crown. Just to make him look royal.

As if he didn't look royal enough. There were six men surrounding him- four holding up his sedan chair, which looked more like a phoenix nest than anything else, and two on either side of him, holding onto gigantic fans that boasted an imposing comb of snow white feathers each.

He was not smiling.

But the crowd was _retching _at him. Water lily petals fluttered to his ripples of dark hair, crossed his face to timidly stroke the back of his hands, his cheeks, his temples. Harp chords sent undulations of watery sound that somehow reached his ears- the dancing musicians that marched behind his sedan chair blew random blasts from booming horns, tapped relentlessly on drums, blew splintered notes out of flutes and rapped their fingers against the dry chords of their sistrums, performing a song that blaringly cried out happiness and mirth. It was meant to be a happy ceremony. He supposed that he _could_ smile… though he wasn't sure he'd appreciate the crowd screaming even louder at him.

_She had been crying_.

She had been so beautiful, this morning. Her face dripping with tears, her eyes rimmed with red.

She would be even more beautiful tonight.

_You have nothing to be sad about, my love. _

He didn't know how much time expired, as he sat there seemingly above the raging tempest that threatened to submerge him, high up in the safety of his golden sedan chair. Thinking of war. Thinking of politics. Thinking of famine. All those things he'd have to see to as soon as the rim of the crown kissed his hair, engulfed the top of his head and made him Pharaoh. Thinking of the way the wind had whispered through the window, blowing satin strands of hair over her face, murmuring across her perfect body. The way she'd been so perfect, naked in the sunrise, arching into him as he tasted her essence, her tears making her cheeks sticky to the touch of his shaking fingertips.

And then his feet were back on the ground, and he was standing in front of a magnificent temple, limestone bricks and red and blue lotus flowers and the lazy whirl of incense smoke catching his dazed eye as he stood there, a simple mortal, sheepishly poised before the limitless grandeur of the Gods.

Did he deserve this?

Did he deserve his coronation?

…was he worth it?

There were twenty-one steps to climb. A rich Henna coloured carpet had been unfurled over the steps, marking where he was to set his unworthy feet. The steps had to be a good handful of metres wide, and at the ends of each stair there was a white clad person- priests, perhaps?- holding a statuette or a jeweled box or a bowl of offerings. He felt those beady black eyes on him, their gaze obtrusive, as if they knew that he was a fraud. Nothing but an imposter.

The frantic noise of the crowd, the pounding insistence of the ceremonial music… it all fell away from his ears, like crumpled petals from a flower.

He took his first step.

The two fan-bearers followed him in his ascent, at a safe distance from him, still waving the white feathers almost hypnotically slowly in his back. He was halfway up now. The silence in his being was so absolute that he could almost hear the faint whisper of the hem of his robes embracing each step, the whoosh of air that the snow white feathers created with every bow of their fluffy heads, the soft clinking of the gemstone necklaces that lay across his breast.

It was something absolute. Even the air around him couldn't seem to draw breath. He was sure he'd feel the same way if he'd have been trudging through a dream, treading across a golden skyline that threatened to break under his cautious feet. All his life he had been somewhat of a rope walker, getting lucky every time.

And now he was to become Pharaoh, under the supervision of the Holy ones.

_How did it get to this, I wonder?_

He was at the top of the stairs now.

His eyes took in the soaring pillars of the temple, the graceful carvings on the walls that shamelessly showed off the gorgeous colours of the paint that covered their stone bodies. There was an aura of power in this place- he wasn't sure which God this temple was dedicated to, and his eyes didn't linger long enough on the pillars and outer walls to search for any clues that would betray the venerated God's identity. His noir eyes were fixed upon the face of the High Priest, who was standing before him, a bowl of powder in his hand, ceremonial paint sketching odd lines of stark colour across his elderly face. His crack lips were chanting the same words over and over again- and Tia had the vague impression that this aged Priest was blind, since those disturbingly foggy pupils stayed forever set on the crowd below, who had mingled with the people of the procession. All the cheering and jostling about were now almost completely forgotten as the people settled for silent admiration, chins up and eyes on the broad back of their future ruler.

The ancient High Priest stopped in his chanting, and there was a round of silence that was appreciated by just about everyone. The Medjai's horses were the only ones to profane this new tranquility, snorting down their pearl-grey nostrils and nervously pawing at the dusty ground, unnerved by all the bustle and noise.

And then, a young acolyte stepped into view, striding across the limestone floor of the temple followed by a string of more acolytes, identical to himself in their clothing and respectful posture. The first one in the line held the red and white _Pschent_- the Double crown, the crown of the Two Kingdoms. Then the one behind him held a bunch of ripe wheat, and the third one bore a seemingly heavy wooden crate.

Tia dropped down to one knee, head slightly bowed, eyes closed. He wasn't even sure if he was still breathing. He heard the High Priest proclaim some loud, prophetic words, and he felt the slap of rough powder being thrown upon his face in sooty lines. The Pschent was exchanged from acolyte to elderly Priest in absolute silence, absolute respect.

Then the imposing Double crown was held just above Tia's head.

He thought he could feel physical pain as all of his thoughts simultaneously exploded in the front of his mind- he could sense the air being crushed between the top of his head and the rim of the crown as if it were something solid, like a protection between him and divinity- he could sense something huge, some unspoken power, something _terrifying_, fluttering down to touch his mind, timidly trying to connect with him. He suddenly found himself struggling to resist the despairing urge to leap backwards, to get out of under that hazardous thing, that ridiculously powerful object that was being held above his head. It felt more like a time bomb than an actual crown, and he wanted to get away from it right now- he wanted to get away- _get away!_

Too late.

The Pschent fit quite snuggly onto his head, clamping its crimson jaws around his skull as the High Priest set it upon the Pharaoh's head. Tia's heart seemed to plummet down to his stomach with some emotion that he did not fully recognize- pride, perhaps? Or was it some kind of nameless terror in the face of this suffocating ceremony?

And then, in the time span of one heartbeat, the High Priest suddenly threw up his hands and yelled to the crowd, "HORUS!"

And then the silence was over. Shattered. Broken into a million tiny shards. The crowd was shrieking the deity's name, over and over again, until the name of the falcon God seemed to press against Tia's eardrums every time it flew from their mouths at frightening volumes.

As he finally looked up, he noticed a figure in the corner of his eye that he should not have missed- a woman was standing behind the High Priest, almost as if she was withdrawing herself from the entire ceremony. Her hands were laced together in front of her, little turquoise and golden pearls braided into her cascade of obsidian hair, her pregnant figure wrapped up in a flowing gown of white folds and auburn ribbons.

_Beautiful as Nut in the nude azure of the morning._

He addressed her a small smile that she hesitantly returned, and then got to his feet, his back still turned to the screaming crowd. The second acolyte stepped forward, handing him the bunches of wheatthat he accepted with a little inclination of the head. He then turned to the crowd and brandished the golden wheat, rousing the people's excitement even further, which he hadn't thought possible- they were all clapping and shouting and pointing, and all he was doing was holding up a bit of wheat in his hand.

Ah well, at least he hadn't brandished his wheat and been rewarded by a huge, confused silence. That would've been a bit embarrassing, to say the least.

"Let not your stomachs fall prey to the clutches of famine, O people!" Tia shouted to them, the raw skin of his throat practically curling up as he strained himself to be heard. He then proceeded to shouting his prepared speech of encouragement and propaganda, surprising himself by being pleased when the crowd cheered at his words, though half of them probably couldn't even hear him properly.

Hundreds upon thousands of eyes were riveted on him. Yet he sought only to meet one pair- he turned slightly and held out his hand to Nefertiri, who stepped out from behind the High Priest and slid her jeweled fingers over his palm, albeit a little shakily, her lips extending into a strange, secret kind of smile that everyone could see but that was destined for his eyes only. She stepped up beside him, enshrouding him in a delicious scent of delicate perfume- it seemed that a lotus fragrance was drifting around her, making her all the more enticing. Feeling a bit panicked about her being so damn attractive and him being so vulnerable to her- as in, a very masculine kind of vulnerable- whilst in front of all these people, Tia hastily turned away while the crowd was applauding their Queen, and he found that the third acolyte was thrusting the wooden crate into his arms. He took it, not entirely sure about what this all meant, and he had to struggle to not stumble backwards on his butt as the sheer weight of the crate made the muscles in his arms strain till they probably resembled juicy scarlet ropes. He set the crate on the top stair of the temple, trying to looking as unflustered as he possibly could, and he slid back the blank wooden lid, his eyes darting to see what was inside it.

His mouth cracked open.

Gold.

An entire treasure chest of gold pieces. They glittered fiercely in the sunlight, dazzling the new Pharaoh till he was sure he'd have stars in his eyes till the rest of his days. While he was staring at this extravagant treasure, he noticed that the music had started up again- half of the crowd was spinning on itself, dancing, the people flitting about in their dull white garb, flinging their sweaty olive-hued limbs around in timeless movements.

He looked at the gold. The crowd. The gold.

And then, suddenly stricken by an absurd idea, he dug his fingers into the cold mass of coins and _flung_ out a handful of glinting gold pieces, throwing the coins upon the screaming faces of the crowd, their outstretched hands, their gaping eyes.

Nefertiri was dancing around and around, her dainty feet stepping across the stairs of the temple with infinite grace, her billowing white sleeves catching the slight breeze and blowing around her pivoting form like caracoling specters back from the dead for one last parade- and in the snow white maelstrom of her dance, Tia threw showers of gold, creating a hailstorm of gold pieces and water lily petals until all the screams, all the pounding drums, all the dancing and the intertwining colours and chants and prophecies and the unbearable weight of the crown of the Two Kingdoms on his head seemed to drown all sense of reality in his being.

He stepped down with his Queen and gave himself in totality to the ceremony, mindless, arms out, embracing complete abandon.

* * *

a&n: And then the Egyptian populace whipped out huge machettes and started hacking each other up for the gold, splattering their guts all over the ridiculously glittery scenery. Finis!  
Well, **that** was boring, huh? I know, I know. I had to Sellotape my eyelids up while I editted this thing to make it a little less crappy. There isn't enough action, there isn't enough _interesting _character interaction. Hm. Definately not enough sex. ;) But don't worry, the next chapter will be full to the brim of that among many other interesting things, so stay tuned! (/pointless propaganda)  
Oh, and just so you know, 'mutankagara' means 'revered one'. According to a certain Egyptian baby name site, anyways. And, 'ostentatious'... I don't have a clue, I guess it just sounded cool. ;) The lyrics at the very beginning are from a song called 'Glittering Clouds' by Imogen Heap, and I put them there because they describe Nefertiri quite nicely, in my opinion.  
Hope you liked it anyways! Feedback is always appreciated, of course... -wink wink nudge nudge- 


	16. Attaining Freedom

a&n: Hey! I'm early! But, it's to compensate for the fact that I'm going away for ten days tomorrow, so I didn't want to lose you guys. Y'know, I'm kind of in dire need of your reviews, so I can't afford to go lazy on you. -grin- Still, I think that I've neglected this story so much that I've kind of become uninspired to write it. In all honesty, I'm finishing this fic to prove to myself that it **is** possible for me to finish a story, and also for you. Yes, you, the one who's reading this right now- this chapter's for you! So'd you'd better enjoy it. ;) Ah, this chapter is a bit long, too, and it gets very violent in certain parts. You've been warned! I'm not entirely satisfied by it but hey, when am I ever? ;)  
music: Definitely something violent or disturbing for the first part. _Dir en grey_, maybe. _Kajiura Yuki_ for the rest.

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter sixteen  
_Attaining Freedom_**

**xxx**

_Splash_.

The flat stone hopped across the still waves like some strange little grey creature, leaping for its life as it desperately tried to stay on the surface of the water- but, of course, its course couldn't continue indefinitely. It somehow lost its footing on the cold, insubstantial steps that the water offered and plunged into the steely-grey depths of the river, its silent scream of despair sending a snowstorm of bubbles to vengefully break the surface of the water.

Crouched on the sand with her eyes absently following the pitiful descent of the stone into the abyss, Leeu picked another flat stone from the ground and drew back her arm, sliding her fingers across the little object's smooth surface to get a better grip. In a powerful swing of her arm, she threw the stone to the trembling waves of the Nile, eyes narrowing as she followed the immaculate ricochets.

_One… two…_

**x**

_Ardeth Bey stepped into the mistress's tent, flanked by two guards._

_The black viper had her back to them, standing before a table that was set in the precise middle of her spacious tent. Actually, her makeshift office was more like a little hut than an actual tent- the four walls were hidden behind wooden poles tightly pressed together, a bit like the inside of a tree house._

_Leeu's head turned ever so slightly to the right, acknowledging their presence, the golden beads that were strung around her neck clinking softly together. The entire place smelled of poison- or, in other words, the perfume that the woman spread over her skin to rub out the sweaty camel stink- and the three men could glimpse a few more pearls of red and blue and green woven into her thick mass of hair. _

"_Report?" _

_The question fell from her lips with a tinge of exhaustion as she went back to her papers, shuffling through the mess that was strewn over the table she was facing. _

_The red-clad man to Ardeth's right stepped forward, his hands tied behind his back and his eyes fixed on the far wall, his head all wrapped up in crimson like a piece of candy._

"_Ma'am. Scouts are still exploring Rameses's temple, drawing detailed maps of the inside of the complex. The uncovering of Nefertiri's temple will be completed tomorrow, midday at the latest. Workers have clear heads, are in good moods. The food supplies should be arriving sometime today."_

_The mistress inclined her head a little, her chin reposing on her collarbone, waiting for him to continue. When he stayed silent, she heaved a satisfied sigh, combing through her hair distractedly with one jeweled hand._

"_Good, good. Just about everything is going as planned." The three men noticed the outline of her cheeks plumping up as she smiled a sly smile. "What about our little comatose guest? Any improvements?"_

_The report-man cleared his throat. "Still vegetative." _

_All three men suppressed startled cries as Leeu's fist suddenly whacked the table in frustration, her face crumpling into a frown of disdain. _

"_Fuck." Both hands were splayed out on top of her papers, shoulder muscles bunching up under her smooth chocolate skin as she ground her teeth together. "She's hindering our fucking plans. Can't someone _do_ anything about it? It's been another two weeks since she last woke up, and she'll be withering up like some dehydrated shit soon if we don't get any food in her system." Another hand through her hair, though this one trembled with anger. "Man, why are you guys so damn useless?"_

_There was an edgy silence. The report-man fidgeted almost imperceptibly. _

"_Well, try something. I don't know. Her body needs fluids."_

"_I sent a message to the village where our food supplies come from, for them to send us packs of fluids that they usually use for patients in medical care," the report guy suddenly piped up, and Leeu violently threw up an arm as soon as he had finished speaking, half-squeaking in bewilderment. _

"_Why didn't you say so earlier, you idiot?" She turned around, finally, and faced them with her lips curled up in a wretched smile as she leaned against the table, arms crossing and fitting snuggly under her bosom. Ardeth, who had remained silent the whole while, watched a bead of sweat trickle down the report-man's forehead with mild curiosity. That damn woman could obviously bewitch perfectly harmless men into doing her bidding with nothing but her stunning looks- absently he wondered if it was solely for that reason that Leeu had managed to scrape together a real army of workers and red-clad soldiers. _

"_Well," she said with a sickeningly sweet tone of voice, "That's all perfect. Anything else, before you leave us?"_

_The report man thought for a while, the sweat dripping down his face betraying his growing 'distraction', and after a few seconds he stepped back to Ardeth's side, giving a respectful little jerk of the head to salute his mistress. _

"_Nothing, ma'am." _

_The black snake carefully inspected her glinting nails, not even bothering to give her acolytes a second look.  
"Well, thank you. Dismissed." _

_The guards turned sharply on their heel before marching away, leaving the Medji and his enemy together in the tent. Alone. _

**x**

The flat stone leapt furiously onwards, creating pretty halos of ripples wherever it set foot.

_Three… four…_

**x**

_The metallic claws that were clamped on the ends of the whip ripped into his tender flesh, tearing an agonized cry from Ardeth's lips. His blood ran in rivers down the naked curve of his waist, the battle-hardened contours of his chest. Bare-chested and kneeling with his wrists tied together in front of him, his withered knees staggered forwards under the impact of the whip's blows, automatically trying to get away from it and its metallic teeth. _

_The Medji was facing the far wall, his inclined forehead at mere centimeters from its wooden façade. Even his toes cringed in the sand as the mistress whipped him, again and again, a sadistic grin of satisfaction etched across her beautiful face. _

"_Thought I'd forgotten about that promise I made you, hm?" she snarled, bringing down the whip onto Ardeth's quivering torso, its leathery arms curling around his waist and slashing across his pectoral muscles. The skin was mercilessly torn away, leaving dripping gashes across his flesh, and Leeu's cold laugh rang out into the stuffy air, synchronizing with Ardeth's scream of pain._

"_You killed my father."_

_Whip. Scream.  
"You killed my men."_

_Whip. Scream._

"_You tried to escape a dozen, pitiful, unsuccessful times."_

_Leeu suddenly had a moment of mercy, and let the whip hang motionless from her fingers, hard obsidian eyes riveted on Ardeth's quivering back as crimson serpents of blood slithered down his skin. She listened to his ragged breaths, the moans that escaped from his tortured throat with every exhalation- it simply made her want to throw out her arms and shriek with triumphant laughter. _See, father!_ She wanted to scream to the world, _See how I can wither your murderer to nothing! See how I can render him into a pitiful little mass of screams and bleeding flesh, completely at my mercy!

**x**

The stone didn't seem quite ready to abandon its aimless course.

_Five… six…_

**x**

_The black viper abandoned her whip on the table behind them and stepped right up to her captive, taking his tied wrists in one hand (not even bothering that she was digging her inch-long nails into his skin) and yanked his arms upwards, forcing him to heave himself up onto his feet. She saw him biting his raw lip as hard as he could to banish the cry of agony as his muscles probably strained beyond description as she swiveled him around so that he was facing her, pinning him against the wall. She then hooked his bound wrists onto a metallic ring that was wedged into the wall high up above their heads, so that he was standing with his back against the wall, arms up. _

_Leeu swarmed up to him, her voluptuous body so close to his own that she could almost feel the ruined skin that covered his ribcage trembling under the assault of his pounding heart. She shamelessly slid a leg between his and placed a hand over his cheek, feeling his blood seep between her fingers, turning his head with a slight pressure of her palm so that his scarlet lips were abhorrently close to her own. Their haggard breaths mingled between their open mouths, and neither said anything for a handful of tortuous seconds._

"_You think I'd forget about my rightful vengeance just because your girlfriend needs a bit of unexpected care, hm?" she breathed right into his mouth, and he could almost taste her wickedness on his tongue- stiffening, he was suddenly assaulted by the maddening urge to kiss her and rip that forked tongue right out of her throat with his teeth. _

_Then, he felt something cold and sharp digging into his throat- with her free hand, Leeu had whipped out a small dagger and was pressing its needle-sharp tip to his pulse point. The fingers that were on his cheek slid down to grip his chin, and the woman yanked his face away from her own, running her tongue up the side of his face without even caring that she was lapping up his blood. _

"_Let's see, now…" she hissed into his ear, so infuriatingly close that her burning breath made goose bumps spread over his tortured flesh. One sudden movement later, the dagger had pierced Ardeth's skin and he felt a drip of blood run down his Adam's apple. He dared not even swallow. _

"_If I remember well, you finished my father off by slitting his neck wide open," she whispered, her lips brushing against the tender skin of his ear as she spoke, "Isn't that right?"_

_Her leg wriggled between his own, and despite the blood that stained every single patch of skin on his body, despite the fact that she was torturing him like the mindless psychopath that she was, Ardeth felt his body give all the wrong reactions- he stiffened, inhaling sharply as he tried to ignore that languid feeling of unbearable heat coiling in his lower body. _

_Obviously aware of this reaction, Leeu's face broke into a monstrous smile and she pressed herself against him even more intimately, thrusting her thigh in between his legs and laughing to herself as she managed to draw a tortured moan of undesired pleasure from his lips. _

"_Turned on, are we?" she hissed, the dagger still pressing against his throat as he leaned his head back against the wall, bedraggled locks of raven hair falling over his eyes and mouth agape. _

**x**

To her surprise, the stubborn little stone was even more determined than its predecessors.

_Seven… eight…_

**x**

"_I didn't know you had a penchant for masochism, my love," Leeu whispered, her lips against his neck, letting a hand trail down the shredded flesh of his chest, traveling down his stomach, lower, lower… until she was touching something that clearly she should never have touched- but she paid no heed to the flames of disgrace that flashed through Ardeth's black eyes. One hand holding a dagger to his neck, the other clandestinely snuggled between his legs, she didn't realize how much torture she was really inflicting on her little Medji friend until he threw down his head and viciously sank his teeth into the tender skin that joined shoulder and neck, having no better means of attack for the time being. She cringed under this assault and dropped the dagger that she'd been pressing against his pulse point in surprise- _

"_In…" Ardeth rasped against her neck, half leaning against her and further straining his arms as his legs began to give away, "…the name… of Allah…"_

_But then she was laughing again, and she took his face in both hands and forced him to look at her in the eyes, though his vertebrae bones cracked loudly in protest- _

"_You know, I really should finish you off. Anyone else could take care of the Queen. I don't even need you any more, you know… though, I think I'm beginning to fall in love with you." She let rip a maddening cackle of glee. "You're too much fun to torture for me to kill you now." She ran her tongue over the bleeding length of his lower lip, drawing from him an unrestrained moan of disgust. "Decisions, decisions…_

_Do you _want_ to die, Medji?_

…_do you?"_

**x**

On the ninth ricochet, the little stone finally gave up and splashed into the water, sinking down to join its fallen brethren at the bottom of the river.

Leeu's black eyes were dull and expressionless as she observed the water's edge licking at the sand that her boots were rooted on. She stayed that way without moving for a good handful of minutes, head slightly bowed and eyes averted, as if she was trying to sort through the tangled mess of her thoughts.

Then, her brow knitting together into a despairing frown, she grabbed a random pebble and hurled it into the water, the waves regurgitating a storm of glinting droplets as they grudgingly accepted the little pebble into their cold depths.

**x**

_The Medji turned his head so that his open lips were pressing against hers- it was not a kiss, it was just a question of restricted breathing space- and the next words that escaped his raw throat were spoken directly into her mouth;_

"_Not… before I kill you."_

**x**

Leeu whipped her head up, checking the position of the sun in the sky, the corners of her eyes creasing as she squinted. Hm… 'Should be about time. She straightened up, turned her back on the Nile and began to jog back to the campsite- Abu Simbel had been practically constructed on the banks of the Nile, after all. In just a few minutes she was running past the tents and stands in which her soldiers and workers were eating their lunch. To her left, a few hundreds of metres away, there towered the imposing statues of Rameses the Great on their stone thrones, but she didn't even spare them a single look. She ran past more tents, more stands- and then she arrived at one of the main tents, the one that was stationed just beside her own office.

She lifted the flaps, not even slightly breathless, and stepped inside.

Evelyn O'Connell was still unconscious, lying on a straw mat on the floor. Her hair had been scraped into a long braid to get it out of the way, and her wrist was punctured by a long, translucent tube that was connected to a bag of yellowish fluids, hung up on a metallic stand that stood beside her. A man was sitting at her side, wiping his hands together, spreading an oily substance over his palms and fingers.

Leeu smirked.

"In a hurry to get your hands on your girlfriend's body, I see," she sneered, crossing her arms beneath her bosom, as was her habit when she was being that sarcastic _bitch_ that she so loved being.

Ardeth Bey didn't answer. His chest was tightly wrapped in white bandages, and there were still a few blood stains here and there, seeping from the wounds that Leeu had inflicted on him a few days ago. The muscles in his arms rippled smoothly as he carefully wiped the oily substance along the lengths of his fingers, his eyes on his work.

"Oh? Giving me the silent treatment, are we?" Leeu laughed. "You mean I accidentally ripped through your vocal cords with that fantastic whip of mine? I'm sorry, I had never used it before, so I might've been a bit clumsy. It's great though, isn't it?"

The ghost of a frown crossed Ardeth's calculatedly expressionless face.

"I mean, I would've thought that you'd appreciate it, seeing as you're undoubtedly a dirty little sadomasochist…" Leeu said airily, a great big smile spreading over her damn face as she took a step forward.

His shoulders tensing, Ardeth had to use a great deal of energy to keep his calm mask from cracking. He picked up the bowl of oily stuff from the ground next to him, showing it to Leeu and locking his cold, cold eyes on her own.

"Did you know that we Medji are taught how to kill with the smallest, most insignificant of objects?" he said in a false-cheery voice.

Leeu almost burst out laughing. "Oh, so you plan to kill me with a _bowl_?"

Ardeth's eyes were so serious that she was _almost_ taken aback. "Apply the right pressure in the right places, and this little object here could make your heart implode."

"Pshh," she waved his words away, "You're making that up."

"Unfortunately a demonstration would probably tear open my wounds, so you'll excuse me if I choose to leave you in ignorance," the Medji articulated icily, putting the bowl down again and casting his eyes down to Evelyn's still form.

"You sweet-talker," Leeu teased, cocking her head to the side, "You know, I'm not completely stupid. I know how to kill you with that bowl, too."

"Really, now?" Ardeth didn't sound very interested at all, though he seemed to be waiting for Leeu to get out of the tent to commence his work.

"How about if I stuff it up your smarmy little _ass_ and see what implodes then, huh?"

Ardeth looked up at her again, a glint of what could've been amusement in his otherwise hard eyes.

"What a gift you have for humour," he told her, then to her complete surprise, he let a corner of his lips curl into a little smile. "Now would you please grant me the honor of letting me do my work?"

Leeu's eyes narrowed into dangerous, glittering little slits.

"Be careful, Medji," she hissed, "Unless you really _do_ love pain, you wouldn't want to provoke me again."

Without another word, she stepped out of the tent, letting the tent flaps flutter down and hide the Medji and his comatose friend from the rest of the world.

Ardeth looked down at the woman laying before him, letting his eyes take in the gentle arch of her brow, the contrast of her dark lashes bordering her almost translucent eyelids, the pale contours of her lips… She looked just about as white and as fragile as a porcelain doll. _Just as beautiful, too._

The dark man took her arm in his slightly trembling hands, one hand curling around her wrist and the other supporting her elbow. He made her forearm do a few wide circular movements, testing her malleability, making sure that nothing was going stiff. He pulled on her arm a little, letting it weigh in his hands, before setting it back down on the straw mat and beginning to press his fingers against several key areas, massaging her muscles, keeping her blood circulation flowing normally. When he had finished, he stepped over her and kneeled next to her other arm, giving it the same treatment.

Then came the legs.

Evelyn was in nothing but her white frilly underwear and a white linen shirt with long sleeves that widened at the wrists- something that a thoughtful female acolyte had lent her. Ardeth shuffled over to her left leg and started his work, digging his fingers into her yielding flesh and sliding the medicinal oil over her skin, eyes downcast and face as expressionless as a glittering Venice mask. At one point his lips seemed to part as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed back his words- and then, after a little hesitation, he gave a little smile and started again.

"You're lucky to be unconscious, my friend," he said, fingers gliding down her calf, "If you saw the madness of our… 'mistress'… and if you saw me all wrapped up in bandages like this, I can't even begin to imagine what you'd say."

He shook his head, pausing in his work, his shaking fingers hovering above Eve's creamy skin. Stealing a glance to his friend's face, only to be disappointed by the obvious lack of reaction, his expression turned thoughtful.

"This world seems to be getting more hectic as the days go by," he muttered, seemingly to himself as his hands ground into both sides of Eve's thigh. He pressed into her flesh, head bowed, strands of hair falling into his dark eyes.

A sigh suddenly escaped his lips, and it betrayed such emotion that he should never had let it out of his throat in the first place- he turned impossibly tender eyes to Evelyn's face again, stopping in his work. Had they really been fully dressed and in good health, just a few weeks ago, standing in the darkness of the O'Connell manor and sharing a drink? It seemed so unreal… just about as unreal as the thoughts that were crossing his mind, right here, right now, as he looked upon the fine features of her face. He'd been weakened beyond anything he could ever have imagined- his mind seemed to be absent half the time, and his body practically creaked whenever he moved. But… that was no excuse to harbor such thoughts for his best friend's wife.

Comatose white. Flawless skin. Delicate bones.

_So, so beautiful._

Her beauty was of a completely different sort than what Leeu put on show. No, that woman was completely and utterly… _grotesque_. Ridiculously attractive. She made men's heads turn for the wrong kinds of reasons.

Yet, _Evelyn…_

The Medji let one finger oh so discreetly trail up the papery skin of her arm, following the pale green trace of the vein that went from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. He didn't know what to think, what to feel- it was like his mind was just a long barren stretch of _nothing_, with misty specters of angst drifting in abandon here and there, wondering to themselves where all the other feelings might have gone off to. His wounds still burned him with the sting of one thousand and one flames, and he could still feel the ghost of Leeu's mouth against his chapped lips- he felt as though that damned woman had lived up to the promise she had made, so long ago it seemed; she had quite gleefully 'stripped away his pride and dignity', leaving nothing but a cracked shell of what the man had once been.

And he was tired, so _damnably_ tired of pretending to be strong, of pretending to know what he was about and where he was headed. Because, he just had to face it- slowly but surely, Leeu was breaking him. She was fulfilling her promise, and he was realizing that he had completely underestimated her right from the start, and Evelyn was still in a coma, and the end of the world was practically hanging in the air, as if it was taking a deep breath before plunging.

What a perfect time for him to realize that he was falling for a woman that he was not _allowed_ to fall for.

He cupped her sweet face in one shaking hand, running the tip of his thumb across her plump lower lip.

But then he drew his hand away as if she'd just sprang awake and bitten him, shaking his head in disbelief- what on Earth was he playing at? He didn't _love _Evelyn O'Connell- it sounded absurd just to think it. Now he was sure of it- there was _definitely _something wrong with his mind. Saying that he was going to risk whatever shreds of honour that he had left and fall in love with this woman! Ridiculous. And besides, even if he _had _somehow fallen in love (it still sounded so wrong), he couldn't just go around playing adultery while Rick and the others were surely on their way.

He tried to rap his knuckles against his temple, as if he wanted to make his brain rattle a little in there. First he had been 'attracted' by Leeu's _torture_, and now he was beginning to think that, in some deluded kind of way, all this loneliness and pain and survival instincts and adrenaline and sitting on camels and saving lives had somehow drugged him into feeling certain emotions for Evelyn O'Connell that could not be right.

Yes, they weren't right. His feelings weren't right. They were all _wrong_, like someone had had fun tipping his heart upside-down to watch it work backwards. He didn't love Evelyn O'Connell. He didn't. For the love of God, he did _not_.

"I," he growled, pointing an angry finger at Eve's calmly breathing form, "am not in love with you." For some reason, the end of that phrase came out a little choked. But the Medji ignored it, carefully studying the woman's comatose expression with a wary eye, and if a red-clad guard would've stumbled into the tent at that moment he would've thought that Eve had woken up and insulted the dark warrior, judging by the sulky expression on Ardeth's face.

Eve, of course, didn't even twitch an eyelid.

What had he been expecting? Some clichéd tear running down that transparent cheek of hers? No, no, no. His eyes darted down to the fingers of her left hand, where the wedding ring shone with a slightly dull golden hue. Shaking his head, he noisily exhaled through his nostrils and clapped his hands on his thighs, almost gathering enough courage to laugh ironically at himself. Almost.

"Tia, please stop being irritating," he muttered, getting back to work on Eve's leg, rubbing medicinal oil up and down its soft length. Yes, all this was probably his damned alter ego's fault- seeing as the Medji had become mentally weak, the feelings of the ancient Pharaoh had probably seeped into his consciousness without him noticing. Now all he had to do was banish the ridiculous feelings away. Yes,_ ridiculous_. It was ridiculous to even consider being in love with his best friend's wife. It was ridiculous to sigh and look deep into her eyes and pretend to see some returned emotion there. It was ridiculous to enjoy every little speck of time that he was offered to spend with her. It was ridiculous to- to rub this darned oily stuff up and down her legs like this-

Ardeth sighed irritably, letting his gaze slide back up to her expressionless visage. He really had to get out of here. _Get out of his hopelessly debilitated mind_.

"Eve…" His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I wonder what's going on in your world…"

**xxx**

Six months.

_A measly amount of time for a Pharaoh's reign, isn't it, my love?_

Six months had passed since the Pschent had been placed upon his head during the coronation ceremony. Six tumultuous months during which Tia had finally understood what it really took to be Pharaoh. He had been faced by war, by chaos, by rebellion. He had heroically stomped most of it out, using up so much of his energy and time to give peace back to his beloved land.

All that for _what_?

From way high up in the throne of the king of kings, he had taken a sensational fall, and he'd somehow crash landed in this dark, dank prison cell, somewhere in the lowest parts of the Royal palace. His hands were tied to the ends of a block of wood that both of his shoulders supported. His hair was disheveled, his wrists deprived of the traditional golden gauntlets, his heart no longer covered by the protective Eye of Ra.

And he was on his royal knees, tired of standing on his own two feet.

_Pathetic._

His head was lolling forward, as if his neck had given up trying to hold that heavy bundle of frowns and misery up straight. Tia was an intelligent man- he understood a lot of things, things that people thought they were the only ones capable of understanding. He knew precisely when it was time to stop, and when the time was right to start again. He could easily adapt himself to people and their choices- that way, he could find out how their minds functioned, and it was a very useful gift to have; being able to plunge into people's heads and see what they planned to do, what their opinion would be if he did of this or that.

Yes, Tia was a very intelligent man. Yet now, it seemed that he had found a particularly hard nut to crack- he had been accused by Rameses himself of _murder_.

Yes. Murder. He could still hear the judge's drawling voice as it dripped from the elderly man's lips, sentencing him, telling him of these heinous crimes that he had never committed and damning him for it- damning _him_, the man that had been their beloved Pharaoh for six months! The husband of their Queen- the father of their prematurely orphaned land!

Tia silently let his eyelids slide shut, the drawling specter of the judge's voice filling his ears for the umpteenth time.

"_A pregnant woman, cousin to The Nameless One. Gash across the neck. Uterus savagely torn open. Lack of delicacy causing the neighboring organs to suffer several fatal wounds. Dismemberment of the fetus from the woman's body…"_

Once again, he tried to clear his despairing mind, his chapped lips formulating soundless words of prayer for those who had so brutally departed- those who he had never even seen before, let alone laid a vengeful hand upon.

"_A young girl. Sister of Lady Anck-su-namun, O beautiful mistress of Pharaoh Seti I. Lacerations around the waist, the neck. Gashes across the limbs. Traces of traumatisms around the skull area…"_

He whispered frantically, staggering a little on his knees. Anyone who would've seen him now would've most probably lifted an eyebrow and curl a corner of their lip as if to say, "This filth was once our _Pharaoh_?"

"_An elderly man. Believed to be a distant cousin of The Nameless One. There were signs of resistance- the hut in which the man lived was upturned as if there had been a particularly fierce struggle. Atrocious mutilations of the fingers, the ears, the inside of the mouth. Tongue ripped out. Crushed kneecaps. The reason of death is believed to be suffocation, due to the important amount of blood that the ripped tongue provoked…"_

A single pearl of moisture fell from the corner of Tia's closed eye and traveled down his dirty cheek, leaving a humid trail of glitter as it went. It had been so long since he had wept about anything, after all… and now that Death was arriving, what was the point in restraining his corrosive emotions any longer, anyway?

There had been twenty-six of them.

_Twenty-six_ murders. All more gruesome than the other, and all of them somehow connected to Imhotep (who had been given a new, rather macabre name- The Nameless One) or Anck-su-Namun.

It wasn't like he hadn't heard of these killings, anyway. Rumours were- or rather, had been- that a psychopathic killer was on the loose in the streets of Thebes. Day after day, numerous Priests came to inform him of the growing number of men and women in the temples, all of them seemingly praying for the good health of their children and close relatives… well, what could he say to them? That he had men thoroughly scouring the streets of Thebes at all times, be it day or night? That he had been searching for this killer ever since he had even been appointed Pharaoh?

Yet… here was the thing that he could not understand; why, for the sake of all things Holy, had it been Rameses who had declared him a murderer?

Why? He could understand that the boy hated him for wedding the sister that he had lusted after for so long- that he hated him for speaking with the dignitaries and politicians to be able to acquire the rights to climb on the throne in Rameses's stead. Alright, so Tia was not completely innocent- he'd sort of bought his way into kingship.

But still. Why would Rameses accuse him of murder…?

_It is plain and simple, my love. _

_He just wants to kick you off the throne. _

_He wants to rule the two great kingdoms of Egypt, as he was born to do. _

_And he has succeeded._

Tia continued praying.

Praying for the deceased, praying for his wife… praying for their baby that he had just had the time to see before getting locked away by those who had been his most trusted guardians.

_Nefertiri…_

Countless more hours had passed (Tia had given up counting the seconds a little while ago) before his cell door creaked open, digging a perfect semi-circle in the sandy ground as it was heaved aside. Three black-clad men filed in, their scythes and scimitars tucked into their belts and their eyes downcast before their captive.

Tia barely looked up at them; no doubt they were coming in to take him away. This was it. Judgement day… he wondered what day it was today, and what the weather was like, on the day he would be forced to embark on the boat that would take him down to the Underworld. He was also wondering why on Earth he felt so calm about all this- probably because he could've sworn on his own heart that he was innocent. Maat's feather alone could judge him, and he knew that he had done nothing to make the sacred scales tip the wrong way. He had nothing to fear.

…_Then, why was his pounding heart still making his ribcage crack?_

The three Medji stopped before him, facing his kneeling form with their brawny arms crossed and their weapons swinging from their hips. They let pass the most eerie of silences that neither of the four men had ever experienced before- it was a silence that screamed indignity, a silence that smelled of some kind of unholy desecration. They were shipping off an innocent (Pharaoh, no less!) to Osiris's realm, at the command of some whiney Prince. They had no _right_. It wasn't like anything that had ever been decreed in the sacred scrolls- nothing like this was ever meant to happen. And Tia was sure that the three Medji standing before him believed in his culpability as much as he himself did.

He shook his head, more locks of hair tumbling into his blank eyes.

"Must we wait? I am ready," said he. There was not one ounce of hesitation in his tone.

The three Medji fidgeted a little. Ruffled up the sand with their slippered feet. Then one of them finally knelt down before the fallen Pharaoh and put a palm against his cheek, gently inciting him to look up into his eyes.

"Sir," said the dark warrior for God, "There has been a change of plans."

Tia didn't even stir as the Medji let his hand slip away, content with the orientation of the prisoner's eyes.

"You see, we have several connections throughout the troops that patrolled the streets of Thebes for the killer," continued the crouching man, "They had had glimpses of the killer, and they all swore that his silhouette, at least, is not at all similar to your own. Much slimmer, and smaller, with longer hair-"

"But Rameses would not hear those explanations?" Tia guessed with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm afraid he didn't even ask around himself for any other suspects. He just declared that it was you, and given his popularity everyone believed him… even the judges." The Medji was shaking his head. "You are innocent, Sir, and the Gods themselves know it."

He marked a pause before continuing, speaking quickly and in a hushed voice;

"You see, my fellow warriors and I do not approve of Rameses's ways. We may technically be _his_ warriors, now, but… we want to help you. Rameses has acted in horrendous ways to become Pharaoh, accusing you of things when clearly you are as innocent as men can get- we do not wish to thoughtlessly side with him as he would wish. There is something else, too… thought it is not very important," The kneeling Medji seemed to smile as he came to this part of his little speech, his eyes alight with a peculiar flame of emotion, "I have a niece who is a slave in this palace and who has always been mistreated by Royalty- Rameses in particular. Honestly, I don't think you'd like to know how he treats his slaves. If only for the sake of my niece, I wish to plant a thorn in Rameses's side by helping you out."

Tia studied the Medji's face for a little while, his kohl-rimmed eyes slanting as he racked through his thoughts. He glanced at the other two Medji who were standing a little way away, both of them with their heads orientated towards the open cell door to check if anyone was eavesdropping.

"I suppose you two have personal reasons to help me, too?" the fallen Pharaoh asked them, and they swiveled their heads around to face him, mutely nodding their acquiescence.

Tia sighed, though it was not out of exasperation. He looked at the kneeling warrior again, absently wriggling his wrists in their scratchy rope binds, vainly seeking comfort.

"How would you help me, then? My execution was meant to be today, out on the streets of Thebes for everyone to see. Do you plan to smuggle me out of the palace or something?"

The kneeling Medji smiled a catty smile.

"That's the plan."

"Listen, I know you have all the kindest intentions, but smuggling someone out of the palace is quite simply-"

"Impossible for people that don't have the Pharaoh's complete trust," interrupted the Medji, finishing the phrase whilst cocking an eyebrow- it gave him such an air of self-confidence that Tia found himself wondering if the man was actually serious. "Sir, I beg humbly you to give me your fullest attention for just a moment while I tell you how we plan to save you. Please keep any comments to yourself, I have to be quick-"

There was a sudden scurry of footsteps in the corridor, and the four men pivoted their heads around to face the open door at the exact same time- they could hear a woman talking hastily with the prison guards though her words were said in such haste that they couldn't make anything out of them, and then they heard her flying down the corridor, sandaled feet slapping against the mudbrick tiles of the floor.

Tia felt an icy hand grip his heart as he heard the trespasser's steps growing nearer, but when he looked up at the three Medji, he found that they all had serene expressions of satisfaction on their tattooed faces.

"About time," said the one who was kneeling, and he straightened up before hopping back in line with the two other warriors.

In the second that followed Nefertiri was gliding into the prison cell, all wrapped up in flowing gowns of glitter and gold and transparent scarves, a royal headband clamped tightly around her head and her lengths of raven hair tumbling over her shoulders. She had a bundle of white cloth in her arms, and her thin lips were practically white as she pressed them together as if she was trying to restrain any words that were fighting to escape her mouth.

Her hard eyes bounced from Medji to dark, bowing Medji, and she didn't even bother to salute them before swiveling around on her heel and setting her scathing gaze upon the eyes of her former husband. She literally _fell_ to her knees before him, letting an anguished cry stream from her lips as she wrapped an arm around his neck, pressing herself and the little bundle of cloth against him. The three Medji were almost alarmed by their Queen's behaviour- kneeling in the sand with an arm around a supposed 'traitor', was it really a dignified way of acting? But, since she was on their side, they simply went back to their bows and dared not look at her again, her and her quivering back as she silently wept into Tia's shoulder.

"Nefer…" Tia breathed into her hair, closing his eyes as he breathed in the usual heady fragrance that drifted around her like some lustful aura. His arms were confiscated from him, and once again he cursed those who had installed that damned wooden pole across his shoulders as he tried to suppress the burning desire to wrap his arms around his late wife and hold her till the whole world crumbled around them- yet, in some ways that had happened already, had it not…?

"That was somewhat of a dramatic entrance, my love," he smiled a rather sad smile into her neck, and upon hearing his black-humoured words, Nefertiri regained control of her senses and drew away from him in the most regal way that she could muster. Though, since she was not quite ready to talk just yet, she contented herself by letting her hand caress the back of his neck, her fingers getting entangled in his unkempt locks of black hair. They had not been apart for such a long while- several weeks, perhaps- but now that Rameses had been named Pharaoh in Tia's stead, Nefertiri had so many obligations weighing down her heart that it felt like an entire lifetime had passed since she had last seen her husband. So many things were happening, it was like a confusing maelstrom whirling in her mind, and she couldn't even think properly any more- it wasn't possible that the world had collapsed like this, it just wasn't _fair_. How was she supposed to feel, anyway, now that her beloved had been declared guilty of the crimes that she had willingly committed? How was she supposed to feel, when it had been her_ brother_ who had betrayed her- the very man she'd grown up with, the man she'd spent her lifetime with? After all, Rameses had been the only one who knew that it had been her, it had been the daughter of Seti who had killed all those people. It had never been Tia- even suggesting that he was guilty of those horrendous acts seemed ludicrous.

Yet, Rameses had used their secret- his and Nefertiri's deadly secret- against Tia, in some cleverly concocted plan to become Pharaoh himself, as Seti I had always wanted.

It was all so complicated, it was driving her insane. And now, of course, Nefertiri could no longer refuse her brother- now that he was Pharaoh, his will could not be questioned. He had _ordered_ her to be his wife, and he had _ordered_ her to kill that baby- that offspring of the fraud who had dared sit on the throne with his undeserving backside.

Rameses had ordered his sister to kill her own _baby_.

"Tia," gasped the Queen, seeing his handsome face through blurred eyes as she let her fingers brush against his tear-stained cheek, before looking up at his wrists and widening her eyes in utter bewilderment.

"Great brother Osiris, cut the man _loose_," she hissed at the Medji, and instantly they stepped forwards and whipped out their scimitars, slicing through the ropes that bound Tia's wrists to the block of wood. He restrained a cry of gratitude as the heavy block fell from his shoulders, his lifeless arms flopping down and landing on his beloved's shoulders.

What a couple they made- kneeling on the sandy ground together, faces inclined and eyes burning into each other's gaze; the fallen Pharaoh and his broken Queen. The bundle of cloth was being a little bit squeezed between their heaving chests as they drew together into a tender embrace- and it was a sharp wail from somewhere inside the white bundle that shocked them apart.

"Hush, little one, hush," Nefertiri whispered hastily to the baby in her arms, sitting back on her ankles to tend to her youngling while Tia adopted the same seated position, his hands on his thighs as he observed his late wife with a smile of unadulterated affection on his rugged face.

"Have you told him the plan yet?" the slightly tearful woman asked the three warriors, shifting her black gaze from her child to the slightly awkward trio. The bravest man finally took a step forward so that he was standing directly behind his late Pharaoh, and he looked at the far wall while crossing his arms behind his back before commencing his explanation;

"Here is how we plan to help you. As you already know, troops of Medji are dispatched all over Egypt to help ensure peace and order. There is a certain troop of Medji out in the red lands, and their main mission is to keep an eye on the trade routes, to make sure that no clandestine goods or people are being smuggled from outer lands into Egypt. However, this troop of Medji is hardly ever under surveillance- it is quite ironic, really. We plan to smuggle you out of this palace wearing Medji garb, and then you will be sent to join the aforementioned troop, out in the red lands to the west of the Nile. It's perfectly safe- no one will ever think of pointing in that direction, and besides, we still have a sense of honour and we can guarantee you that we will never betray you." He paused, maybe to add a dramatic effect to his words. "It is the best thing we can do for you, Sir. A Medji's life out in the desert is never uninteresting, so we thought that maybe-"

The faithful warrior was startled into silence- Tia was laughing, laughing a joyous laugh as if nothing bad had ever happened and he was truly content with the events taking place. He had shuffled over to Nefertiri's side and taken the bundle of cloth into his arms, offering a calloused finger to the tiny pink hands that protruded from the white linen folds.

"You don't have to try and make things sound luxurious, my good man; I already know that I'm going to choose the path that you're offering instead of death," he declared, smiling down at his child and squeezing his late wife's hand in his free one, mindless of her rings digging painfully into his skin.

Nefertiri placed her free hand over her beloved's cheek, gently forcing him to look at her, and for a moment suspended in time they simply stared at each other, silently acknowledging the fact that they were going to be apart for a very, very long time. And then, simultaneously, they leaned towards one another- the three Medji all turned around with an air of 'Lalala, I can't see anything…'

The Queen's kiss was salty with tears, and it was all the more heartwrenching to let her pull away, seeing as it felt like it wasn't only their kiss that was ending- something seemed to die in both of their eyes as they grudgingly drew apart, letting their eyes fall down to their little gurgling child once again.

"You'll take him with you," Nefertiri whispered to him, her voice seemingly robbed from her by some malicious sprites. It was the only way she could save her child from certain death- she knew it could be so easy to kill any one, let alone a baby, these days, so she preferred not to risk hiding her little boy somewhere in Thebes where he'd still be too close to his uncle. Tia watched her with a questioning look, but didn't persist when she stubbornly kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to meet his gaze if it meant he could freely read every little emotion that lingered in her teary eyes.

"Um…" The same Medji that had given the explanation stepped forward again, nervously clearing his throat. "We have a story for you, if you are ever stopped on your way to the Medji camp in the red lands. You've exceptionally come to Thebes to see your nephew's birth." He waved a hand in the baby's direction; "His mother wants you to take him away to be raised amongst the Medji, because she's too poor to keep him. Naturally, we have informed the Medji troop that you will be joining, so there should be no problems."

"Simple enough," Tia accepted the story with a nod, then pushed himself up onto his feet again, taking his late wife's hand into his and gently pulled her up beside him. The former Royal Couple stood rooted to the ground for a full minute, eyes blazing, fingers laced together, looking straight at the three Medji's faces as if to check for any hesitations on their part. The warriors seemed adequately serious about their mission- almost passionately so. Five pairs of eyes acknowledged each other, and then their owners filed one by one out of the prison cell, heading towards the guardian's office in order to dress Tia up in Medji clothes. It was, of course, Medji that watched over the prison, so they weren't risking anything by walking along the corridor undisguised.

Tia tried very hard not to wince as the Queen's nails bit into the skin on the back of his hand, and he desperately kept his eyes averted as she bit her lip, struggling hard to look as calm and composed as a Queen should be. She was going to lose the only one she had ever truly loved- she was going to lose a companion, a confidant, a friend… all at the same time. Fate was intolerably cruel, sometimes- perhaps it had been Her that Nefertiri should've sought to murder, instead of those twenty-six innocents.

But Nefertiri had to keep her chin up, her eyes ahead, as if she knew exactly where she was going. She could still hear her father with his beloved baritone, telling her those exact words… she could still feel her brother's fingers on her chin as he pushed her head up, encouraging her to go on.

Those would've been comforting thoughts, if those two men hadn't selfishly _betrayed_ her. One had abandoned her. The other had transformed into some gigantic ass who thought that she was at his disposition all the time.

_Well, aren't I lucky to have such a kindhearted family?_

The five people arrived at the office- it was a small wooden door at the end of the corridor. The three Medji rapped on the door and were granted entrance, whilst Tia drew his late wife into a tight embrace, snuggling his chin into the crook of her shoulder and holding her all to himself. Their tears got tangled in each other's hair, and hung there like silver pearls among endless lengths of ebony, but neither complained- they couldn't even find words to say to each other before parting for what might be the last time. Would a simple goodbye suffice? Did they have to pour their souls into each other's mouths before they could accept this damnably _unfair_ parting?

What was the protocol for breaking someone's heart, anyhow?

And then Nefertiri turned her head so her lips were against his ear, and she whispered something to him, eyes closed and cheeks riddled with tearstains.

Tia curled a hand around her shoulder and peeled her off of him, holding her at arm's length, staring right through her eyes and into her mind.

"Go," he said, his hand sliding from her body and hanging limply at his side. His fingers twitched awkwardly, as if they wouldn't work properly if they weren't in contact with her velvety smooth skin. He looked away as she bent over to kiss her baby boy's forehead, holding back her long hair with one hand, and then she turned on her heel and simply walked away, heading for the entrance of the prison corridor.

She knew that his eyes were not on her back as she held her head very high, her fists swinging at her sides and her back achingly straight.

She knew that he wasn't watching as she slipped out of the corridor and into one of the halls of the Royal palace.

She knew that he still wasn't watching as she started to run, wildly hurrying across the palace halls with a hand over her mouth and the other swaying dangerously to sustain her balance.

_She knew that he still wasn't watching when she tripped and fell head-over-heels, laying pitifully on the hard tiles of the floor, staining the limestone with her dripping tears. _

_She knew that she was definitely alone when a servant scurried over to her and helped her up, informing her at the same time that Rameses had requested her presence in his chambers tonight. _

_Alone. _

_Completely alone…_

* * *

a&n: Why? Why so many little bold 'x's? -wails in despair- I hope you weren't too confused. Yeah, this fic is confusing beyond description. Let me just recount everything that happens to Tia/Nefertiri, so that it's all clear in ye heads:  
Seti is alive. Rameses is appointed prince Regeant, which means he'll succeed to the throne if anything should happen to Seti. Seti gets killed. Rameses makes Nefertiri swear to avenge his death by killing Imhotep and Anck's family. Nefertiri starts murdering loads of people while Egypt's throne is empty. Now, I screwed up history here: Tia never reigned in real life, but in Regenesis, he did. Nefertiri "fucked a few politicians" (for lack of a better explanation) in order to get Tia on the throne, since Rameses was supposed to be Pharaoh after Seti, but Nefertiri wanted to get her lover on the throne because otherwise, once Rameses would be on the throne, he'd probably have Tia killed in order to have Nefertiri all to himself. While Tia was on the throne, Nefertiri gave birth to that child she had in her belly in chapter 15. Got it? Alright, now for the next part. Rameses accused Tia of Nefertiri's crimes against Imhotep and Anck's families. Tia was thrown into prison with a death sentence for his 'acts'. However, the Medji aren't happy with this, so they decide to smuggle him out of prison and make him join a troop of Medji. He takes his baby boy with him, so that Rameses won't kill it. And then... that's how Ardeth comes into being. He's actually a direct descendant of his alter-ego, you see, and he's descended from a line of Medji, seeing as the baby was raised in a Medji camp. Clever, hey?  
Oh my god... I think I just confused you even furthur. o.o Okay, just forget everything I just said and ask me all the questions you'd like! I always reply to your reviews, so don't be shy. ;) I'll reply to anyone who reviews once I get back from holiday. Take care! 


	17. Immortality

a&n : Hello! One month later, I know, I know... and, my GOD, this chapter could have turned out so much better. But, eh. I suck at this story. :( If anyone feels like doing a remake someday, I'm sure it would rock! Argh, I really should re-write this chapter, but y'know... twenty-two pages is a bit of a bitch to erase and write all over again. Okay, I won't keep ranting and spoil the chapter for you- but just so you know, if you feel just the teeniest bit teary-eyed, then you're a huge sap. :) On with the fic!  
by the way : Just so you know, my review-replies are almost always chopped off. If you asked anything of me, then I'd answer you in my profile page. (hint hint, PrincessAnck) Thank you so much for the reviews, everyone- I hope you're still sticking around!  
music : Oh my gah, please listen to heart-wrenching music, otherwise you won't feel anything since I write so crappily. Hm. _Silent Hill 4: Room of Angel_ is pretty damn good. Also... _Luna_ by _Sugizo_, _Inner Universe_ from the _Ghost in the Shell_ soundtrack, _Gravity of Love_ by _Enigma_, actually any good_ Enigma_ song you can find... _Summer 78_ by _Yann Tiersen_, any piano piece by Yiruma ...do I sound like a music addict? I think I sound like a music addict. You all know that you can find this music on radioblogclubdotcom, right?

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter seventeen  
_Immortality_**

**xxx**

Red winds embraced sand devils as they ran and played over the dunes. The sun was blazing furiously, trying to pierce the phantom veils of dust and heat that hid its burning visage from the grand expanse of the Sahara desert- in its wrath it sent flaming breezes across the sands, blowing furiously against any puny stone-made construction that the humans had dared erect on His sacred land.

The wind caressed the slender form of her shoulders, blowing particles of sand into the lengths of her billowing hair, making the pristine white folds of dress fly around her. She was a symbol of white in the scorched red lands, her bare feet firmly rooted in the sand, heedless of the heat that engulfed said feet and threatened to make her fragile skin bubble and melt. Her arms were crossed, strands of ebony hair crisscrossing her face, sticking to the sweat that marred her forehead and under her lower lip.

She was standing before the temple that her brother had constructed for her.

Her, the woman that he had so coveted during all these years- her, the woman who was his sister, the woman who no longer felt even the fraternal affection that his presence had evoked in her, ages ago.

Why had he constructed this temple, right next to his own, here in the glorious site of Abu Simbel? Why dedicate something to her, something that had cost the time and the sweat and even- sometimes- the life of the workers who had laboured so hard to see it finished? Why dedicate something to her, when she wouldn't even meet his eyes anymore, when she wouldn't even smile at him, when she wouldn't even prove that she loved him back?

Nefertiri felt a pang of emotion as she set her eyes on the magnificent structure- Hathor, stepping forward one slender leg, looked tenderly down at her with her glazed stone eyes, and two male bodies flanking her- this threesome guarded the right side of the small rectangular entrance, and an identical threesome guarded the left side.

She closed her eyes as the wind carried scarlet whispers to her ears, and she inhaled the sweet, dust-smelling air before taking another step forwards, dipping her already scorched foot into a puddle of sulphuric-acid-like sand.

_And then Nefertiri turned her head so her lips were against his ear, and she whispered something to him, eyes closed and cheeks riddled with tearstains._

"_Seek me out in Abu Simbel as the Red Sun sinks, whenever you can. I will always be there, waiting for you. If you don't find me when you arrive, it'll mean that the sand in my hourglass has sunk into Anubis' throat, and that it will be there that I'll be waiting instead._

_Join me quickly…"_

It had been a year since Tia had infiltrated the Medji's ranks, a year since he'd become a protector of the desert. A Medji.

It had been a year since Rameses had made her his Queen, his great royal wife, a year during which she'd been desperately trying to resist his urges to grant him a child. It didn't matter that he threatened to impregnate a few beautiful women in the harem that he had inherited- and that, doubtlessly, he was planning to expand- instead of her. It might have mattered before that he was so openly sleeping with girls right under Nefertiri's nose, but now she couldn't care less about who it was that skipped blindly into his bed; just because he had erected a monument for her didn't mean that he had to erect _other things_ for her, too- he was her brother, and would always be her brother, for the sake of all things holy. She would not sleep with him, full stop. She tried so hard to stay 'pure', as she put it, that she ended up not speaking to him at all, so as to discourage any advances that he might think of making.

She had become so, so cold- and all that for what?

_All that for his sake. _

_All that for Tia's sake. _

_All that for the sake of honour- seeing as I'm the only sane person left in our Royal family, it seems…_

She had come to Abu Simbel whenever she could, at every single sunset that she could manage- calling on her faithful Medji guardians to lead her out into the desert where she could meet her lover as she had promised him, twelve long months ago. She had waited for him countless hours, countless nights, waited for him while sitting on the cool stone of the temple doorway with her arms crossed over her knees, chin resting on the backs of her hands. She didn't care what the Medji thought- the black-clad warriors who stayed by her side for entire nights, sometimes- they probably thought that she couldn't detect the furtive glances that they passed to each other, as if they were trying to communicate skepticism amongst themselves. They probably didn't believe that the fallen Pharaoh would come and meet her here in this magnificent place.

That's why she had to believe with all her being that he wouldn't abandon her. Why she had to believe that he would come, eventually, that he was simply being held back by his duties as a Warrior for God. Why she had to believe that he was still faithful to her- that he would fulfill their promise.

_But… had he really promised? Had he even said one word of acquiescence to these clandestine meetings?_

Nefertiri bit her lip, pushing the thought way back, far away from her where it couldn't leap up and aggress her mind as it so often did. She couldn't stand to think that there was a single possibility of him never coming to Abu Simbel to meet her- that was just, impossible. Impossible to imagine. So, living through such a thing was sure to be _beyond_ impossible.

"Ma'am," one of the four Medji that escorted her called to her from their chariot that they had parked in front of Rameses's temple. Even the powerful, raven-black stallions that pawed the sand with their heavy hooves looked tiny next to the might of the seated statues, high up in their stone thrones. Nefertiri didn't even twitch in his direction; she simply advanced towards the entrance of 'her' temple, wincing a little every time her bare feet trudged through the scorching sand.

"My beautiful lady, pardon my tactlessness, but it has been over a year that we've been escorting you to this place, and…"

He trailed off hesitantly, seemingly too much of a coward to dampen Nefertiri's already soaked spirits. But Nefertiri had heard him, and she stiffened as though some sort of incredulity had bolted through her body. She stopped in the stone frame of the temple entrance, a hand on the smoothly cut limestone, her back to her four guardians.

She was waiting for him to continue.

"The Medji troops that are guarding the desert have not been under any sort of assault, according to the messengers that they regularly send to the palace. Therefore Your Majesty doesn't have to worry about any harm that may have come to Her… _friend_. So, due to his continued absence, we were thinking that perhaps…"

The man could still not liberate the ending wagons of his train of thoughts. It seemed that they contained a certain explosive something that would make their Queen break down, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

"You were thinking that it is by simple choice that my 'friend' is not showing up at our meeting place," Nefertiri bit out, then spun around in the doorframe, anger making her hands ball into fists and her hard eyes turn dangerously crimson in the low desert sun.

She turned her dark gaze onto the four cringing guardians, who nevertheless tried to stand boldly in their shameless display of officiousness.

"You can go back to the Palace if you like, gentlemen," Nefertiri called to them with a falsely polite voice, "Seeing as it bothers you so to do the bidding of your Queen. I wouldn't want to bother you all with your _jobs_, so seeing as it's so painful to spend a few nights a week to escort me, you can just get back to your chariot and rejoin your families in Thebes."

The four warriors all took a step forward and pulled up a hand simultaneously, opening their mouths to protest, but the Queen waved an impatient hand to silence them.

"No, it's perfect that way," she muttered, so quietly that they had to strain their ears and grope for the sound of her voice on the wind as it was carried to their ears. "If he does not come tonight… then I'll simply stay in this temple and join the ranks of statues that are supposed to represent me." She hiccupped a laugh, and such a heart-wrenching laugh it was that they found it awkward to continue staring at her in the face. "No one would really notice, would they? Some insist that I'm already made of stone. I'll fit in perfectly well with those statues…"

Her eyes flickered back to the four men who had been sort of struck-dumb and who were sheepishly standing there, mulling through words of protest in their heads.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" she cried, making them all jump; "Get back to Thebes right this minute!" Still they hesitated, so came the need to threaten them, as Nefertiri had the knack of doing. "I'll have you all mummified alive if you insist on waiting to escort me back, so for the love of Isis, GO. Tell Rameses he can come and look for himself if he doesn't believe that I'm- _suicidal_."

Gulping a little in shock, the four warriors strode to their chariot and took up the long reins of the two grand black stallions and whipped them into action. The two beautiful creatures snorted fiercely down their silky nostrils and they arched their broad necks, throwing their forelegs forwards and plunging their bulky hooves into the sands as they put all their body weight against the harness that bound them to the chariot. Though they were unsure as to how Rameses would react to the news they bore- most likely he would strike them down for leaving his precious Royal Wife out in the desert alone- the Medji could not refuse their Queen this last request. They sank into the distance, riding fast and hard, crossing the last of the sand dunes that sketched the horizon and disappearing behind its glittering crimson dome.

Nefertiri shielded her eyes from the sun's brutal rays with one hand as she followed their escape with her obscured eyes, and she surprised herself slightly to find that no tears were running down her cheeks. It was a happy surprise- she hated crying, she really did, and seeing as one whole year had passed without a single shed tear, she intended to keep it that way for the rest of her pathetic human life. She was tired of looking like such a sap, crying all the time, letting her burdens flatten her instead of trying to heave them onto her head and carry them along like all the other women out there seemed to be managing to do.

So she stood in the doorway of the temple dedicated to her person, a hand on her forehead, her eyes squinting and her legs slightly apart. Her robes whispered around her calves in the diminished breeze, and her gaze scanned the trembling horizon. Ra seemed to be inking pink and orange and lilac tattoos into the flawless skin of Nut's belly, and the little wisps of clouds were drifting toward the sun as it sank lower and lower into the scorched skyline.  
The sand dunes, bathed in the crimson spell as they were, stayed naked and beautiful and untrodden as they drew the bumpy outline of the horizon. They looked like a wall against the sky, trapping her here in this desolate place, dressing a barrier between her and the rest of the world- dressing a barrier between her and the man she so yearned to see.

_He wasn't coming._

But her gaze didn't harden in the slightest. She had, obviously, become accustomed to waiting like this, alone, with solely the tenderness of the wind to embrace her and murmur comforting things in her ear. She turned into the doorway, knowing, knowing that she'd have to live up to her words and she might as well get to know the statues that she'd soon be joining since she had nothing better to do. She stepped into the temple dedicated to her, not for the first time, letting her feet rest on the deliciously cool stone floors as she sank into the darkening depths of the halls.

A hand on the wall, she advanced through a corridor, fingers sliding across great carvings and paintings and glorious stories about her and Rameses's love. The place wasn't very big inside, but she liked the intimacy of the torch-lit corridors and the small but luxurious chambers that they opened onto. In the dark, however, when she stepped out of the orangey halo of light that the torches on the walls cast over the floor, it felt like walking blind-folded through a labyrinth of beautiful statues and golden engravings. She could get lost in here, but she didn't mind- she would get lost in something that seemed to be like a familiar place; a home, even, a beautiful golden haven in the midst of the desert… or maybe she was just imagining her attraction to this place, and she was really just getting lost in the glittering labyrinth of her own mind. She sighed, hanging her head as she carefully stepped into a chamber, eyes downcast. How had Rameses made this temple so… so _perfect_? How had he known her so well, and at the same time, made her hate him? In the end?

Then suddenly, something impossible occurred.

She thought she heard someone weeping in a corner of the chamber that she'd just stepped into. Eyes narrowing, she looked into the sombre corner where she had thought she'd heard the obtrusive sound, unable to believe her ears- no one was allowed to come here when it wasn't for a celebration of some sort, and those who were caught skulking around were usually properly taken care of, when found.  
She couldn't believe she had just stumbled upon a desecrater of temples, right here, right now, when she'd just dismissed the men who were supposed to assure her protection. She had no weapons, except maybe her claws and eyes but, being realistic, there was no way she could get away from a fully-grown man who was aware of her presence, and who had all the time in the world to prepare his blow. She was an ambusher, not a warrior.

She attacked people from behind. And she didn't care if that made her sound cowardly.

That's why, when she saw that the person huddling in the corner of the chamber wasn't showing any signs that he'd heard her entering, she leapt to one of the statues of Hathor that stood by the side of the little entrance and with a powerful yank, broke off both of her sleek golden cow horns.  
She wasn't going down like that, in _her_ temple, without a fight.

The intruder whirled his head around, and then stood up, turning completely around and stepping out of the shady corner of the chamber. He was facing Nefertiri and he was about three metres away from her, a long scimitar hanging from his hand, the torch flames making brilliant orange and egg-yolky colours dance across its clean surface.

Nefertiri gave a startled yelp as she saw the man's face.

Well, to be more precise, the _woman's_ face. It wasn't a man who would be her downfall, after all- and it wouldn't be a stranger either. For a fleeting moment the Queen thought that she had her eyes on Anck-su-Namun's vengeful face, those black eyes bearing such hatred that the illusion seemed almost real.

But, no. It wasn't her nemesis, here in the temple chamber with a long scimitar in hand, it wasn't the woman that she so sought to bring back from the dead just to kill her with her own hands. It was Nefertiri's own sister. Henutmire.

A scowl curling her thin lips, Nefertiri took a step forwards and nodded her head at the tall, bold figure of her sister in an aggressive way.

"What," she snarled, "in the name of Isis, are you doing in MY temple?"

Henutmire gave a short, humourless laugh.

"My sister," the princess sighed, shaking her head piteously, "I'm surprised you're still here. Do you _still_ believe that your filthy little lover will come and meet you here? And here, of all places!" The broad woman lifted her dark arms in the air, smiling ironically to herself; "Here, in the temple that your own husband erected for you?"

"So you've been tracking me, hm?" Nefertiri barked, ignoring that last sentence. Husband, her royal back_side_. She didn't care if it was in the very bed where she 'slept' with Rameses so many regretful times that she met Tia- as long as she saw him again, the Gods could damn the place of their meeting.

"I haven't really been tracking you, my lovely," Henutmire sneered, "but one thing that I have been doing a lot lately is comforting our dear brother. Yes, he _does_ bear some kind of affection for me now, believe it or not," the hateful princess added when Nefertiri's eyebrow arched so high it threatened to snap in two.

"I don't understand," Nefertiri said slowly, pacing around so that both sisters were slowly circling each other, glinting weapons clutched tightly in their hands.

"Don't you?" laughed Henutmire, adopting such a condescending tone that it gave her sister more reasons to want to murder her on the spot. Henutmire was a beautiful woman, just like her sister- but, she had something more voluptuous about her. Her shoulders were broader, her waist thinner, and the curves of her legs and hips was more pronounced- she was also at least as tall as Rameses, and she had the same sort of reckless nature as him. Which was probably why she and her aforementioned brother clashed, making it impossible for them to grow affectionate to each other.

"My sweet, sweet sister, don't you understand that Rameses is _craving_ you? He's always been after you, though you may have denied it for all these years. Well, I bet it was a shock for you when he finally asked you to wed him, wasn't it?" Henutmire spoke with a maniacal glint in her eye, and Nefertiri could almost detect a little hint of jealousy somewhere in those hard, black depths. "You have no idea how much it hurt him, when you denied him the right to be Pharaoh. You have no idea how much it hurt him when you denied him the right to have an heir of pure Royal blood. You just- you just have no idea of how a human's mind works, do you? You think you can just do everything as you please, flinging people away when you don't need them anymore, killing whoever you fancy whenever you fancy just for the sake of some petty personal problem-"

A sheen of tears was glinting in Henutmire's eyes, and it was obvious that she was talking about Anck-su-Namun's family, since the concubine had been like a real sister to her. Nefertiri felt her heart squeeze into an icy knot as the words tumbled from her sister's mouth- of course she'd known that Anck-su-Namun had been dear to Henutmire. Of course. A surge of adrenaline was already coursing through her veins, and she could feel the maddening desire to kill pulsating through her veins once again- it was a feeling that she'd developed during all those terrible nights of murder, and she couldn't say she despised it.

On the contrary, faced by the sister that she'd always detested, and who had always loved and admired Anck-su-Namun (and probably continued to do so), the royal Queen found herself welcoming the murderous feeling into her veins.

_Welcome home._

"Some petty personal problem?" Nefertiri whispered, the words coming out of her throat raspy and dangerous; "You call- Anck killing our father- MY father- _a petty, personal, problem?_"

Henutmire was not intimidated in the slightest. It seemed that she'd come here for a reason, a mission, and she would let no words hinder her plans.

"Father didn't love me. Actually, I wonder if he felt anything more than what he felt when fucking his concubines whenever he drew me to his chambers," Henutmire spat, the hatred in her eyes blooming into something even more destructive, something that burned so passionately that Nefertiri was slightly taken aback. "You don't even know me, do you? You've been living in the Royal Palace for this long, always sucking up to Father and that boyfriend of yours, and you've never even been curious enough to ask yourself what it might be like for me, or for Rameses. Alright, so you could confide in Rameses because you trusted him. You liked him, _liked_ him, nothing more. But meanwhile he was torturing himself over feelings for you that he knew you didn't hold for him- and- and I was torturing myself over the plan that Anck had told me she would put in action as soon as her and Imhotep had the chance, and- and- and _you-_"

Nefertiri had to squint her eyes at her sister to make any sense out of what she was blabbering. She held up one golden horn, directing its point at the woman facing her, interrupting her tirade.

"Wait, wait. You're not making any _sense_. What, exactly, is your problem? And why, exactly, does Rameses confide in you now?" Despite being smaller than Henutmire, the Queen was still her older sister, and there had always been something rather intimidating about the way she managed to look down on someone who was actually taller than her. Besides, it had always been that way, even when they were kids- Nefertiri was always the one mercilessly bossing her sister around, and in some funny kind of way it seemed that this particularity had lasted through the years. Henutmire stumbled over her words- she had never been very good at drawn-out speeches, anyway. Nefertiri could have sworn that the woman had prepared a little paragraph on a piece of papyrus to read out to her, using the scariest voice she could muster.

Covering that embarrassing little stutter, Henutmire smiled a mocking smile at her sister before continuing.

"Rameses has suspicions, sister. You didn't think he'd just sit by and accept the fact that Tia's disappeared off the face of the Earth, now did you? Take that, and the fact that you're almost always absent in the evenings, and when you stick the two pieces together I think we have a pretty nice-looking bit of proof."

"Proof of _what_?" Nefertiri sneered, edging ever closer to her sister.

"Proof that you're meeting- or, trying to meet your lover every night. He's still alive, we know _that_. And you, well, when's the last time you took pleasure in something that Rameses did for you, huh? It's so obvious that you don't love your brother at all. You don't even love him like a sister loves a brother, let alone how a woman loves a man. And Rameses…" Henutmire's eyes narrowed even further, "Rameses can't stand it. He wants a royal heir, and since you refuse to give him one, he's been approaching me, after all these years of ignoring me."

Nefertiri snorted. "The man's a fucking gigolo. And you think this all means that he's going to replace me with _you_?" She took a rather large step towards her fuming sister, "Darling, Rameses has never even looked in your direction before, so what makes you think he's ever going to love you at all?"

"Rameses loves _me_, now, and I'm sure of it because," Henutmire's words were so venomous that Nefertiri restrained a rather audible gulp, reminding herself not to let her weapons slip in her sweaty palms under _any_ circumstances; "he's told me to track you down. And if I find you in the arms of that des_picable_ man who goes by the name of Tia, I'm to strike you both down." Here she smiled a sugary sweet smile that didn't quite match her eyes; "But, you know. Since Tia doesn't seem to want to stick around you any more, I guess I'm just going to have to kill you and tell Rameses that Tia escaped at the last moment, like the coward he is. I'm sure it's a pretty believable story, and," Her eyes held that psychopathic eagerness again, and Nefertiri's fingers held the slender horns so tightly that they could've snapped in two; "I'll finally be able to kill you, as I've always wanted to do. To avenge Anck-su-Namun and her innocent family!"

Henutmire lunged.

She was brandishing her scimitar above her head, and with a roar she brought it down in one swift sweep onto Nefertiri's withdrawn frame - but the Queen easily dodged the attack, leaning to the right and taking the opportunity to whirl around to Henutmire's back, and before either of the women had really registered what it is they were doing, Henutmire was standing quite still with her scimitar hanging shamefully still from her hand, her head tilted back and the tip of a golden cow horn pressed painfully against her windpipe; her cherished older sister was standing at her back, an arm clamped around her waist to keep her from moving.

Nefertiri's lips were just by her sister's ear, and whenever said sister tried to wriggle free of her grip, she dug the tip of her weapon further into the tender flesh of Henutmire's throat.

"Stop talking like some lovesick child," the Queen hissed into her sister's ear, absorbing yet another wriggle with her vice-like grip around Henutmire's waist, "Do you know how many of them I killed, hm? Do you know _how_ I killed them?" She carefully drew the horn point across Henutmire's throat, tracing a short crimson line in the honey-coloured skin, and she smiled despite herself when she heard the muted whimper that escaped her sister's panting mouth, "And then you think that _you_- frail little sister- you who have had no real experiences of murder- you think you can just stroll in here like some cool desert breeze and finish me off?" She laughed a bitter laugh; "You know, I think the real reason why Rameses sent you here was because he's tired of you. He's never talked to me about wanting any pure blood heir and all that nonsense- he just wanted to get me in bed with him, full stop. No one _cares_ about pure blood heirs anymore, darling. He knows I've had much more training in the arts of combat than you, and he also knows that you know next to nothing about using weapons. So… tough luck for you, darling sister, it seems like Rameses has sent you to your death… and quite willingly, too."

With that, Nefertiri pushed her sister away brutally, unwinding her arms from the bigger woman's body and leaping back into an almost perfect back flip, landing on her feet a few feet away like in the good old days.

Casually she blew away a strand of hair from her face, readying her golden cow horns before her like Sai daggers, setting such a superior gaze on her sister that she looked a little like an Anck-su-Namun who had just foreseen that she'd be winning yet another match.

Henutmire hit the wall, having been unable to regain equilibrium after being pushed, and she quickly sprang away from the hieroglyphic masterpiece that she had broken her nose upon- a messy splatter of blood marred the broad chest of a beautifully painted Egyptian god. With a tremulous cry, she spun around to face Nefertiri, wrapping both of her hands around her scimitar handle as hastily as she could, slipping a little as her trembling fingers slid over each other. She was already breathing heavily- little trickles of blood dripping down her chin and neck, she set a black gaze on her sister, who was standing smugly on the other side of the chamber in a graceful battle stance.

Nefertiri didn't even wait for her sister to recover fully.

She leapt forward as silently as a great cat, her feet pattering across the floor as she feigned running straight at her sister- Henutmire, who thought her sister was just going to crash into her head-on, heaved the sword up in a diagonal position of defense in front of her torso, legs wide apart to support its weight but Nefertiri had other plans; she hurtled to the right, throwing herself into the air and performing a magnificent handless cartwheel and landing beside her sister's unprotected right flank. The Queen spared not even a second, forbidding her sister to even react, before slicing up Henutmire's side from hip to armpit in a blur of gold horns.

Henutmire let rip a piercing shriek of pain, the sound of it echoing across the corridors and reverberating across distant chambers, and all the way back again. She staggered around, swinging the heavy scimitar in a dangerous arch, but she was still much to slow for her sister- Nefertiri was already dancing around her, taunting her, letting her soft mocking laughter drip excruciatingly in her ears.

"Tired already, hm?" Nefertiri sneered, grinning maniacally from ear to ear as Henutmire's face crumpled, trying to restrain the pain of her broken nose and slashed waist, before engaging in a complicated dance of deadly, metallic ribbons. The scimitar clashed with Hathor's sacred horns, again, again, then the sword-bearer twirled around and tried to strike at a different angle but the horns had disappeared from her field of vision, as well as their owner- Nefertiri had rolled across the floor, dodging the attack, and before the princess could even twitch her fingers on the scimitar handle, Nefertiri had viciously sliced across both tendons of her heels, severing the sensitive sinews in an absurdly powerful swipe.

Bright white pain exploded behind Henutmire's eyelids as she fell to the floor like a vulgar wooden puppet- she could almost taste the agony on her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut as she unconsciously let the scimitar slide from her fingers and clatter to the floor but the harsh sound didn't even reach her ears- it felt like glass shards were shooting up her calves, her thighs, tearing up the pit of her stomach- she couldn't feel her feet but at the same time they felt like twisted balls of pain, pain, _pain_- white and red figures were dancing on the backs of her eyelids, she couldn't feel anything, just that_ excruciating- horrible- _

Her mouth was open in a soundless scream as she sat there, spine hunched forwards and legs splayed out on the floor. She didn't notice that Nefertiri was sitting calmly on her heels, neatly smoothing back her hair as she looked down on the heaving form of her younger sister.

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, that was a bit dismal."

Nefertiri let another one of her infuriating soft laughs hang like droplets of scorn in the stuffy atmosphere of the chamber. Henutmire could only tremble in reply.

One sudden movement later, the great Royal spouse had pushed her sister to the floor so that said sister was lying on her side and Nefertiri was astride her trembling waist, leaning over Henutmire's shaking shoulder to be able to see the woman's bleeding face. Silky strands of perfumed hair stroked Henutmire's cheek, and Nefertiri leaned even further forwards so that she could contemplate her sister's face up close.

"Poor, poor younger sister." The sing-song voice threaded through the waltzing demons of pain and somehow came to Henutmire's ears, and it took a superhuman effort to actually be able to discern some kind of meaning in them. "It really looks like Rameses didn't harbor much compassion for you after all. I'm so sorry that the wretch was heartless enough to make you believe that he loved you, before sending you to your death like an innocent horse to slaughter."

Henutmire tried to twist around and plunge her sister into the black, hatred-filled wells of her gaze, but the pain in her heels still wouldn't fade- moving was like scraping glass shards across her wounds, and whilst Nefertiri was sitting on her like this she had no choice but to lay there and listen to whatever obscenities the Queen deigned to grace her ears with.

"Let's keep this simple, since you're clearly in no fit state to make any sense out of what I'm saying, and it wouldn't be fair to insult your ego while you're rather incapacitated to strike back. Rameses loves me- and seeing as he's been loving me all his life, I'm not sure that suddenly letting me go would be a very characteristic thing for him to do. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if he let go of his feeling for me- you see, that feeling takes up so much space that if he somehow lost it, he wouldn't be able to fill the hole that it would leave in its wake with something as pathetic as _you_."

"You seem very confident," spat Henutmire, marking each vile word with a drip of blood on the limestone floor that was centimetres away from her face. Her broken nose positively gushed blood like some kind of sick geyser, and the shallow line across her throat was brimming with scarlet liquid like a red string collar wound tightly around her neck.

"Oh but I am," cackled Nefertiri, "I'm confident that I know my brother well enough after all these years. I'm confident in his revulsion for you. He probably couldn't bear to see you stalking around the palace any longer- you, the friend of Anck-su-Namun, the friend of our father's murderer- so he decided to… how to say it. Send you along?" The Queen whipped back her head to throw back the fragrant lengths of raven hair over her shoulder, a demonic smile splitting her face into such an expression that Henutmire could deem herself lucky not be able to see her sister's face. "And as for Anck-su-Namun's family… they do not deserve to be avenged, after the perfect, dramatic deaths that I offered them. They died _beautifully_… albeit a little messily. But you don't know the _feeling_, sister, that blissful _feeling_ of accomplishment when I watched Anubis rip from their bodies the souls of those traitorous creatures, when I looked upon the sticky clumps of blood and sweat and peasant's grime that marred my fingers after the kill-" Henutmire was shaking, shaking, tears pearling at the corners of her eyes as her heart pounded even more furiously against her ribcage in insurmountable fear- still she was deprived of the vision of her sister, sitting atop her, miming the way she would look at her bloodstained hands. "The accomplishment of knowing I was avenging my beloved Father. The accomplishment… the accomplishment of knowing that they were all paying for his death. Paying for the grave, _grave_ fault that Anck-su-Namun had committed with her lover. Do you understand?"

Henutmire despairingly shook her head, whimpering to herself as her tears traced paths of fire down her cracked nose.

"Do you understand?" repeated Nefertiri with an eager tone of voice, throwing back her head once more and offering her horrid smile to the high painted ceilings. "Do you understand what it is to love a father, Henutmire? Do you understand what it is to love beyond the boundaries of death, to love so fully and desperately that one would do anything for the sake of that beloved being?"

Henutmire's head was still swaying dizzily from side to side.

"No…" Nefertiri lowered her gaze to her sister's trembling shoulder, reaching with her left hand to roughly caress Henutmire's wet cheek, "I don't suppose you do. You were wrong in saying that I never wondered how it was for you and Rameses- how you were both coping with royal life. I know that Father rather abused of you, my darling. I know that between you and the rest of the members of the Royal family, there was a deep, dark trench of misunderstanding and perhaps even loathing, precisely because of what Father made you endure. I know that Father wasn't innocent and just- being so is to be _supernatural_. Still, I loved him. I loved him because I was his favourite daughter and he would always look upon me with such affection that was as rare for him as it was for me- between him and I passed an understanding that I don't think has ever passed between two other human beings before. He was everything to me, Henutmire. He was my tutor in so many things; he was the one to whom I ran when the world seemed to be crumbling- and I would choose to run to him over a thousand and one Tias, you know. He would sit me on his knee and embrace me, and all the troubles in the world would fade from the moment like watery ink from a papyrus. Can you imagine what bliss it is, to linger in the presence of a perfect partner? …Sometimes he was my lover, other times my parent. Everything, Henutmire,_ everything_."

Nefertiri stopped to breathe, and to contemplate on what she had said with some kind of heartfelt melancholy, momentarily forgetting to put on her mean face. Henutmire was still shaking, but more frenetically now- was that laughter emerging from her splintered lips?

"You speak such _sap_, sister, your mouth must be going frothy."

Nefertiri sneered.

"Of course, you understand nothing of all this. All you saw in him was a mindless brute who liked to 'seduce' you when the desire to do so kindled in the back of his mind- and that's precisely why I never sought your company. You could not understand me if you did not understand him. He never brought you to his bed out of sheer thoughtless lust. It was simply a way of communicating his love to you. If you had only told him what you felt instead of thinking yourself weak and letting him bed you before emerging from his chambers with your head hanging, thinking to yourself what a martyr you were whilst feeding your hatred for him a little more every night, things would have been so much easier for you. But no, instead you decided to simply hate him and began to make plans with Anck-su-Namun, plans to rid yourself of this abusive father who had done strictly nothing to you, and who thought he wasn't doing anything wrong since you never complained to him that you didn't like sleeping with him. Oh, Henutmire," Nefertiri sighed a rather unhappy sigh, "what an idiot you have been."

Henutmire ungracefully spat, interrupting Nefertiri in her tirade and splattering the already stained floor with another splash of warm, dark blood.

"I hated him. And not only because he made love to me without my consent- because I happened to glimpse his true face, once, I saw what a despicable tyrant he really was. I hated you all. Anck-su-Namun was my soul-sister, and I'm _so happy _to have worked with her for the murder of Seti I. I'm so happy to have supported her all those dreadful years during which both of us were at Father's mercy, so happy to have encouraged her to kill him." Henutmire turned her head up a fraction, eyes glinting dully in the torchlight. "_I'm so happy that that piece of filth is rotting away in a damn sarcophagus that he doesn't even deserve."_

Nefertiri drew back from the heaving form of her sister with an air of deep disgust etched on her beautiful face, standing up and stepping away from the huddled body of that fickle woman.

"Then I'm positively _ecstatic_ at the thought of ending that life of yours that, clearly, you do not deserve."

A bare foot sailed and the heel struck Henutmire's shoulder, so that the princess rolled over onto her back, forearms automatically flying upwards to protect her face. The Queen looked down at her sister with such loathing in her black eyes that it made sense that Henutmire appeared to be cringing away- the princess could do nothing more besides wriggle as Nefertiri dropped down to straddle her hips, recklessly slicing away the fabric that covered Henutmire's flat stomach with one glittering cow horn.

"Oh… you deserve to die as much as the rest of Anck-su-Namun's family. Soul-sisters, you say? I'm afraid all of Anck's family is currently rotting away in some deep, dank part of Ammut's stomach, so seeing as I can't exactly let any other parents of hers live, I'm afraid I'm going to have to drive this horn through your stomach." The Queen smiled a sweet, compassionate smile, teasing the taut skin of Henutmire's belly with the tip of one of Hathor's horns. "It won't hurt as much as I'd like it to, but, a wound to the stomach is reasonably painful, I assure you. You see, you don't die straight away. First, the acids in your stomach flow out of the gash and into your body, burning, scathing everything in its path. Next, your blood will freely run from the wound and into you, churning and clotting and making your innards a disgusting _mess_. You'll lose a lot of body fluids, I'm sorry to say. I'm not sure _how_ you die, though. Perhaps you suffocate on your own fluids? Or maybe you loose all your blood." A shrug. "Oh well. You'll know before I do, anyway. It's a rather painless way to go for a parent of Anck-su-Namun's… but I don't have much choice. I don't have much time, either, you know."

And Nefertiri pulled up the cow horn, readying it in the air above Henutmire's stomach while Henutmire whimpered and pleaded and sobbed, throwing out her arms to try and grab hold of Nefertiri's wrist- all in vain, of course-  
Hathor's sacred horn had punctured Henutmire's smooth skin and was plummeting through her stomach, savagely tearing apart every wall of tissue that opposed its descent, just as a male voice cried out;

"_NEFER!"_

Nefertiri's arm had jolted a little as she put all her weight on the horn and the golden tip broke through Henutmire's back, transpiercing the princess's body before knocking hard against the floor. The royal Queen had hardly the time to register what was happening- what was this atrocity she was doing- how Henutmire's entire torso jerked upward violently, slimy bubbles of blood oozing out of the princess's beautiful, plump lips, her eyes springing wide and a scream curling in her throat- how the figure in the doorway was just standing there, black-clad and bare-chested under his open robe, a hand on the doorframe and not one inch of muscle twitching.

Thoth seemed to catch the great celestial hourglass in His nimble human fingers and freeze the procession of the sand, creating some kind of lapse in Time itself.

There was an eerie stillness in the air of the chamber. The only sound that could be heard was the faint, faint echo of the man's outcry, along with the disgusting gurgling noises that accompanied the flow of blood that dripped from Henutmire's mouth. She was moaning, softly; whimpering as she was nailed to the ground by her own sister's weapon- nailed to the ground by the horn of Hathor, as if the goddess Herself disapproved of the princess's mission that had been to bring down her own sister. Well, the Gods seemed to mock her, now- here she lay, between Nefertiri's legs, searing shards of pain encrusted in her flesh, each shaky breath seeming to rip apart her very ribcage.

But her terrible moans of pain didn't lure Nefertiri's attention in the slightest- the Queen had snapped her head upwards, and those wretched black eyes of hers were fixed upon the figure in the doorway.

"Uurr-gnnn- N-nefer-"

Henutmire's bloody hands groped for her sister's forearms, blindly, pitifully- she grabbed instead at Nefertiri's sumptuous semi-transparent dress, her fingertips staining the beautiful cloth with dark crimson blotches and streaks. But the Queen paid her no attention whatsoever. It seemed that even the hot stench of blood that was invading her nostrils did not bother her.

She was frozen on the spot, her mouth open slightly, her brow furrowed, and her eyes completely disbelieving. The thin thread of whitened skin that outlined her lower lip was trembling- though if it was in rage, or in sadness, or even in fear, one could not guess; the expression in her hematite eyes was about as insightful as that of a stone.

And then something in the air snapped.

"It is only _now_… only _today_… that _you_ decide to show up?" Nefertiri snarled to her lover, who still stood transfixed in the doorway like some poor Nubian child standing between the wheels of Rameses's war chariot, anticipating a catastrophe.

The Queen let her eyes sweep from the man's head right down to the calloused tips of his naked toes, an unmasked look of utter superiority on her visage- she looked on her lover like she would look on some filthy slave child caught with his finger in her bowl of liquefied kohl, back home.

One whole year of relentless training and observation in the Medji camp had clearly marked Tia's frame. He seemed more- more _virile_- his shoulders seemed broader, his stance alert and powerful, almost intimidatingly so- his eyes shimmered with deep knowledge and a few grazes of battle had still not left the smooth skin of his exposed chest, his cheeks, even the tender skin behind his ears. The Medji robes embraced him with gentle grace, dark folds tumbling from his shoulders and sleeves brushing against the backs of his fingers- his bold legs were wrapped in trousers of a shimmering black fabric, and hanging from his heavy, studded belt was the trade-mark crooked scimitar, as was the specialty of the Warriors for God.

His gaze was far, far too cold for Nefertiri's liking- which was why she'd adopted the same heartless look, the same alert stance as he, except that she was still crouching in a somewhat submissive position. It was for this precise reason that she suddenly leapt up from Henutmire's quivering body, taking a few steps back and presenting herself fully face-on, in the most aggressive stance she could muster.

Something was fluttering painfully beneath her left breast.

"So the rumours," Tia half-whispered, "The rumours were true. The Medji spoke true."

This time it was his turn to 'check out' his lover, from her heaving bosom to her glass eyes and back down again to her shapely legs, who were set a little space apart- she was standing absolutely still, except for the ripple that every inhalation sent through her torso.

"The murders, you mean?" Nefertiri added sweetly.

"I mean the twenty-six innocents for whom I took the blame, _yes_, those humans who were ripped apart like some vulgar boar ribcages and emptied of all their dignity, all their honour- all their _innards_, for God's sake-"

"Don't take that tone with me," sneered the Queen, adrenaline shooting through her veins and making her mind fizzle with a burst of different feelings- bloodlust and anger and incredulity and alertness and- and somehow, somewhere, timidly poking its nose out into the air was some kind of humiliation at being found by her lover whilst kneeling over some spluttering, bleeding corpse.

"You know I don't usually raise my voice with you, my love," Tia spoke, a shuddering calm seeping into his tone of voice as he closed his eyes as if to block out this horrendous scene; "You know I'm not used to lecturing you. You know I'm not used to walking in on you when there's that wretched, half-demon smile on your face and you're sitting atop the gurgling form of your own _sister_." His eyes were open again, and it seemed that even his tired eyelids could not bear to come into contact with the blazing fire that was alight in those obscure depths. But it was more of an inner fire- as if it wasn't meant to reach out and viciously touch anyone who deserved to be punished; it seemed like something was alight inside him, burning him, burning his inner flesh to cinders.

He was riding recklessly atop a wavelength that was _no way near_ fury or outrage. He was somewhere beyond that, and Nefertiri quickly found it unbearable to let those scathing eyes feast on her own- she dropped her gaze to her spluttering sister, and to her surprise it was a far easier sight to see.

She had to counter him. She had to protect herself. _Fast_. The killer instinct was still feeding her bursts of adrenaline and she felt _so_ light-headed, feather-light on her feet, so damnably above all of this that she was _smiling_ that demonic smile all over again. _Nothing can hurt me… nothing can stop me, nothing can prevail over me… as long as I have the upper hand. _

Her eyes were frighteningly wide and eager as she set them on her lover again- she looked almost psychotic in her bloodlust, but Tia didn't let her expression faze him in the slightest. He never stooped from that doorway, though- and it was probably better that way, better for everyone.

"N—neff-" Henutmire was spluttering incoherently, though no one was really paying any more attention to her poor, dying form, crumpled on the floor as she was.

"I suppose you want to know why, don't you, my love?" Nefertiri spoke over her sister's loud groans with a rather haughty voice, "I suppose you haven't even guessed why, why I killed those twenty-six traitors? Why every night, I returned with blood encrusted on my hands and on the soles of my feet?"

"Why, every night, you were somehow different- cold and silent and sharp, stalking around and glancing over your shoulder like some tracked _predator_?" Tia filled in for her, his low, indignant voice slicing through her own and somehow clashing with her own ridiculously eager tone of voice. "I think I can guess. I think I know why you betrayed me like this."  
"How did I- I never _betrayed_ you!" Nefertiri laughed a crude laugh at this, sounding not much like herself but like a crazed Sekhmet with her belly full of red-dyed beer.

"You betrayed your trust in me, Nefertiri," Tia murmured, his voice nearly drowned out by the sudden cry of pain that burst from Henutmire's lips like a whiplash- she was fading with each passing second, she could feel it, and now her hand was reaching out towards the ceiling, her quivering lips forming the word 'mother?' over and over again. "You could have been truthful with me when I asked you what was troubling you. I was so patient with you, you know. I was understanding. I… left you to yourself whenever you wanted privacy. I consoled you night after night. I _waited_ for you to tell me what it was that was gnawing on your mind like this."

A normal Nefertiri would've hung her head and said something like, "And I waited for you to ask me. I could never have told you… you would have stopped me. And I wouldn't have been able to bear continuing my mission, knowing that you disapproved of it." A normal Nefertiri would've felt ashamed- not that that was common for a Nefertiri in her right mind. Only, Tia had had that kind of influence over her.

But the fallen Pharaoh couldn't really say that that was the kind of response he was expecting to hear from his beloved's lips. And, it was not at all that kind of response that he received.

Nefertiri shot him a dark glare, and then in one swift movement she spun around and stomped one foot down on the limp, wounded flesh of Henutmire's stomach. The princess cried out, horribly, blood trickling down the corners of her lips and her eyes creasing beyond recognition against the pain- the Queen stooped to wrap the fingers of her left hand around the cow horn that was still planted in her sister's stomach, and with one yank- putting all her weight on that foothold so as to create leverage- she wrenched the sacred horn from Henutmire's stomach, leaving a gaping bloody wound in her wake.

Tia could hardly believe what it was that he was seeing- his mouth was cracked open in astonishment, in harsh disbelief- but then one gulp later he recomposed his expression, pinching his mouth in a sour way and sneaking one hand into his robes to rest his fingers on the safety of his sleek scimitar handle.

Nefertiri whipped around again, the two sacred horns of Hathor clutched in both hands- one of them dripping with blood- and she advanced on her lover with that maniacal glint in her eye that he had come to hate so much.

"Well, I _betrayed_ you because I did not want to tell the likes of you something as important as a mission given to me by the Gods themselves," she spat, not at all herself, and still stepping one foot in front of the other, her back hunched and her arms hanging limp from her shoulders, weapons clutched tightly in her hands and her stance perfectly echoing that of a hunter sneaking up on some prized prey. "I was to avenge the son of Horus, and it's not like I could just tell anyone about it."

"'Anyone', Nefertiri? I'm just 'anyone' to you, now am I?" His eyes were torturous- and they were nothing to the shattered tone of his voice. Slowly- disbelievingly- his fingers slid over the smooth ivory of his scimitar hilt, loosely holding it in a grip that would instantly tighten were he to yank the blade from his belt. But the Queen ignored this, still looking upon him like a cheetah licking its lips at the sight of a plump, juicy-looking gazelle- the look in her eyes dazed him so much that for a moment he almost didn't recognize her; almost thought that he'd stumbled upon some stranger bearing whirlpool eyes and broken horns of the Goddess in her lithe hands.

"You're just anyone to me if you can't take this, my love," Nefertiri smiled a traitorous smile, "You're just anyone if you can't take what I _am_. You didn't really believe that I was that simpering fool of a woman that you greeted every night, the one that wept like some little child in your arms and cursed herself over and over for some reason she just wouldn't disclose to you?"

"I did believe that you were still the woman with whom I'd _grown up_, Nefer. I did believe that you were still that child whose hand I would hold as we fled from the palace to get lost in the streets of Thebes, the marketplaces, the noisy suburbs- any place that didn't smell of gold and expensive perfume, you would say. I did believe that you were still that teenage princess that I would hold against the walls of the corridors in the heart of night, that teenage princess who would grant me the key to the secret life of a child of Royalty behind the Palace doors. I did believe that you were still that woman who would sit out in the palace gardens wearing gold in her hair and brilliant sashes around a fine waist, picking apart lotus blooms while talking to me- talking of everything, every little thing, every little thought that crossed your mind. I somehow knew that you would change after that terrible day- the day your suspicions came true, the day that everything you'd told me about, all those fears that I denied, the day that all of that somehow came true. But I didn't know… I didn't guess that you would change _so much_."

It would have warmed his heart a little if he could have sworn on that minuscule softening in his beloved's gaze. But her step hadn't even faltered, and now she stood at barely an arm's length from him, and her canine was resting on her thin lower lip as she responded to this monologue with another of those damned aggressive smiles of hers that he had come to hate about as much as that mad spark in her eye.

"So you don't think this is right, my love? You don't think that this is _glorious_? Look- look at her, writhing around on the ground-" The deranged Queen suddenly stopped and turned to point at her pitiful sister, who was laying on the floor, inert, if one didn't count those pathetic little hiccupping breaths that made her entire body tremble. Blood had pooled around her head, sticking to her hair and staining her ears- her hands were cupped around the atrocious wound in her belly, and her eyes were on the ceiling. And that's where they would stay, when the last petal of life had shed from her mortally wounded core. "She helped Anck-su-Namun to murder my father, Tia! Look at her, _look_ what her reward is now, that wench, that disgusting little-"

And then Henutmire's head tilted to the right so that those pained, bloodshot eyes were staring straight into Tia's. The Medji felt a tremor ripple through his body as he captured that despairing gaze in his own… and he didn't even realize that a small trickle of moisture was running down his cheek.

"That woman is your sister," he stated simply, not daring to close his eyes, yet not bearing to look upon that wreck of a woman any longer. He turned his gaze just to see a flicker of rage bursting across Nefertiri's face, and then the Queen proudly held up Hathor's horns, holding her chin up high.

"That woman is a traitor," she sneered, "Prey to my 'predatory nature', as you so charmingly put it. And… if you feel for her… then I don't know why you shouldn't participate in this spectacle that is my 'predatory nature', too."

_Maybe I shouldn't, because I was once your friend. _

_Maybe I shouldn't… because maybe, once upon a time… you loved me?_

Tia drew his scimitar up just in time.

And Nefertiri's two glinting horns clashed with his crooked blade, her foot sailing to knock against his calf, curling her leg around the inside of his knee- she leaned backwards, feigning backing down on the weight that he put on his silver blade- but he knew that she would yank on that hooked leg to try and unbalance him, so he daringly left one hand on his scimitar hilt and slipped the other around her waist so that he had a secure hold of her. They looked like dancers engaged in a deadly tango, their weapons hissing and spitting metallic screeches as they ground together- and Tia spared no time to twist around with her, peeling her off of him as she gnashed her teeth to try and not give away under the weight of his scimitar against her trembling cow horns. And then he let go of her and placed his free hand on his scimitar handle again, and with a restrained grunt of effort he pushed her off, sending her stumbling backwards under the sheer force of his push. Nefertiri let herself fall to the ground to roll over and regain balance before springing to her feet again half a second later, and she spun around with all the grace of a lyrical dancer before swinging a horn upwards through the air, sweeping Tia's attack off of her with a sweet metallic ring of sound, before leaping backwards in a beautiful back flip, her jewellery tinking softly as she landing on her feet a little way away. But Tia was on her again, slicing and stabbing the air around her, his moves seemingly calculated and completely controlled, as if he wanted to meet solely her cow horns and never her flesh, not daring to come into contact with her honey-coloured skin.

"Why do you not _strike me_, lover!" Nefertiri shrieked as she swiped away yet another cold attack from the dark Medji and made a stab at him, the eager smile leaving her face to be replaced by a peculiar look of desperation; "You despise me now, don't you? Now that you know- my true intentions! Now- that you know-" She was half-fighting for breath as she spun around and ducked and danced to and fro, swiping at him and never once looking at him in the face; "- that you know I've changed so – so much!"

When the last word had left her splintered lips, she had spun around and prepared a low attack, but the black-clad Warrior for God had a deadly advantage over her- he was in such a position that made it so pathetically easy to sweep aside her coming attack and slice his blade into her skull. She was hunched up in front of him, preparing to swipe at his chest, while he was standing there with his legs slightly apart, his arms up and bent backwards behind his head as he prepared to swing his scimitar upwards over his head and down onto hers.

He looked down at her with an undecipherable expression in his eyes- and a sharp stab of dread pierced Nefertiri's heart. He was going to kill her. She was going to die.

And then-

Just as she was lunging forwards with a sacred horn of Hathor pointing straight at her lover's torso-

The corner of Tia's lip curled into a sardonic smile.

If he didn't swing his scimitar down right now, he wouldn't be able to protect himself, he wouldn't be able to strike her down-

But he didn't swing it down.

His fingers unwrapped from the ivory hilt.

He let the sword fall to the ground.

And then Nefertiri's reflexes came too late- she couldn't think, she couldn't think- _what was she doing?_ – and the tip of her golden horn punctured Tia's skin, drove through his ribcage, sank deep into his lung.

His lips wrenched apart as he let out a groan of pain, staggering backwards, his back hitting the wall and Nefertiri clumsily stumbling after him, her hand still wrapped around the cow horn.

She couldn't register what was happening. She couldn't understand what she had done yet- she hadn't been able to look at him in the eyes during the fight, but now she couldn't seem to rip her eyes away from his calm, expressionless face. He was drawing breath about as easily as anyone who happens to have a big golden spike in their lung, and he was studying the violent flashes of feeling that were coursing wildly across Nefertiri's horrified face.

Oh, and there was also the minor fact that he was dying.

A sigh escaped his lips, and suddenly a big blockbuster rush of emotion seemed to explode in Nefertiri's mind- she was holding her lover against the wall, her weapon embedded in his body, and that was _his_ blood that, unconsciously, she could feel flowing hotly across her fingers, across the tingling skin of her hands.

Somehow she was panting and sobbing at the same time, and somehow she couldn't quite think how everything had come to this- why was she not lying at his feet, his blade in her body, her life leaving her eyes? Why was she the one sobbing, and he the one pressed up against the wall with his lifeblood leaving him in one lustrous crimson cascade?

"_Why did you drop your sword?_"

And then he was crumbling, his knees giving away as he desperately fought for breath.

But Nefertiri slapped both hands against the wall on both sides of his chest, so that she sustained him against the wall, his arms hooked on her sleek, trembling forearms. She hoisted him up roughly so that he was standing on his own two feet again, and with a grunt of effort he slumped his arms around her shoulders to keep himself up.

His shoulders shook as he panted, sucking air terribly into his damaged lung.

Her shoulders shook as she desperately tried to restrain these ridiculous sobs that were trying to gnaw their way out of her constricted throat.

"It seems… as though you're won," he muttered with a very guttural voice, making the woman who was holding him between the clutches of life and what came afterwards cringe as that horrid voice seemed to spark her sense of reality. He was here. He was pouring blood. And it was all _her fault_.

"Why did you…?"

She couldn't even formulate the question properly.

But Tia rested his head back on the wall behind him, that damned smile still etched across his tortured face.

"I don't…" Blood trickled silently down his chin. "…_can't_… despise you," he ended with a tearing gasp, his head tilting forwards again so that his forehead knocked against Nefertiri's, eyes downcast and staring at her lips. "Bring … the entire world down… and I'll still be the lovesick fool that … I am."

He watched impassively as a tear rolled down her cheek, tracing the fine contours of her mouth.

"Why did…" He watched her trembling lips articulate the words, softly, like a breath of wind brushing against his lower face- but she didn't even want an answer, that he could tell. It was too late for an answer.

With a tremendous effort, he retracted his arms so that he could cup her face in both of his calloused palms.

"I… wanted to leave this world… to rejoin with that gentle, loving spirit of yours… that you seemed to have killed," he gasped, every single word causing a new world of pain to erupt in his chest, "But, it's… there again…" He drew his face back, so that he could set those heavy-lidded eyes on her own, studying that expression of infinite regret hidden behind a glittering, golden veil of tears; "…there behind your… _eyes_…"

And then, as the salty droplet fell from Nefertiri's chin and splashed soundlessly to the floor, Tia keeled forwards. Fell against her. And crumbled with her to the ground.

**xxx**

'…_I'm sorry… I just can't stand seeing you like this…'_

'…_please, don't do this! You haven't done anything wrong! This is MY affair! You have nothing to do with it! Please…'_

'_What are you suggesting? That I _let_ you take over? I'm sorry, my love… I just cannot bear to see you doing these things.' _

'…_so…we-we fight?'_

'_So we fight.'_

_Nefertiri awoke with a rather ungraceful gasp, reeling right up into a sitting position in the grand double bed, a hand on her heaving breast and the other one holding her up on the mattress. So may times, the nightmare had come back… so many times, it had pestered her unconscious mind, weaving her worst fears into great tapestries and flaring the torchlight upon them so that all that she could do was stand and watch, her mouth agape and her expression completely aghast._

_Why? Why did she keep dreaming of him finding out, of him wanting to eliminate her because of her damned mission? Why did she have to feel so wretched when she awoke, thinking that he wouldn't be sleeping next to her but standing by her bedside with a sword in hand and a vengeful look on his face?_

_Why, why did it frighten her so? She was sure that, even if Tia did somehow find out, things wouldn't go down to that… the both of them could never fight. It was absurd to even consider it. _

_The broad expanse of smooth, moonlit skin that stretched across her lover's back stirred a little as he groaned, his head turned from her so that she couldn't watch his eyelids draw back from those tender dark eyes of his. He groped for her without even turning his head to look at her, laying a hand on her thigh._

"_Nightmare again," he said groggily, though it was more a statement than a question. _

_Nefertiri smiled affectionately in his direction, timidly laying the hand that had been clutching at her heart ontop of his and guiding it gently across the soft, warm skin of her inner thigh, leaning to the side so that she rest her chin on his back. _

_She opened her mouth to say, "Nothing I can't handle," and he spoke the exact same words at the exact same time, causing her benign smile to widen as she swept back his tangle of raven hair away from his nape with her free hand, pressing her lips against the tender, ticklish skin._

**xxx**

So…

Things _had_ come down to this, in the end.

_The nightmare had come true._

And there was no way she was going to let herself believe any of it.

How _could_ she believe anything, even her very sense of reality, when she was sitting in this torch-lit chamber with the heaving body of her lover in her lap, the corpse of her own sister rotting somewhere nearby, and the silver eye of Ra piercing through the mountainside and peering into the scene without intervening even once?

"Nefer…"

The rasping voice came to her ears like a winter breeze, soundless and soft, chilling her to the bone. She was rocking back and forth though she did not know it, sitting with her legs crossed and cradling Tia's head in her arms, staring straight at the wall.

There was a blank expression on her face. Like she couldn't bear to let herself even _think_ about what she'd done. It was like in all those murderous nights; abandoning her will to that dark, leering creature that would rear its ugly head and take control of her senses- rendering her numb in the face of death, rendering it all the more bearable to tear apart the fragile flesh of a hapless human's body. Well… the damned creature seemed to have tricked her, this time, and how she hated it- how she hated _herself_ for being mother to such an abomination, for conjuring the worst of all double-edged blades straight into the depths of her own mind.

But… but it was still her fault, in the end. It was still her fault that she'd let herself sink into that euphoric sense of power, of self-confidence, it was her fault that she'd let loose that predatory creature and it was _her fault, her fault entirely_ that Tia was here, that Tia was lying with his head in her lap and his lung ripped apart and his breaths rapid and his blood steadily pooling around them both-

"Nefer…"

Her misty eyes seemed to drag down to meet Tia's closed eyelids by themselves, heavily, grudgingly, taking in his handsome face- the silken outline of his parted lips, the thin scarlet trail traced as though by her own fingertip on his chin, the rugged cheekbones, the inky blackness of his lashes as they brushed against his cheeks. The lanky strands of hair that fell across his face. She brushed them away, sinking her fingers into his hairline, digging her nails into his scalp as she bit down hard on her lip, feeling abhorrently schizophrenic and _wrong_. What- how- ? Why had that killer instinct _thing_ come over her like that, why had she _let it_ take over? Why? Gods be damned, _why?_

"Nefer…"

She leaned over him and let her open mouth hover just above his own, feeling his feeble gasps becoming weaker and weaker, seeing the stark red colour of his lower lip in her peripheral vision. She was starting to think how beautiful his lips were when stained with blood like this- how beautiful it would be, to ask him to take hold of her shoulders and pull her with him into Death, pull her with him into the everlasting white plains of the Afterlife- so she bent over him just a little more and ran the tip of her tongue over his bloodstained lower lip, pressing her open lips to his and not caring if the blood was smudging over her skin, and it was just as beautiful to capture his dying breaths in her mouth and steal from him the ability to draw life from the air, kissing him roughly and passionately and sucking from him the remainders of life that struggled so hard to live, just because she couldn't bear to sit idly and watch them leave him. Just because she couldn't bear to sit there and watch him die.

But he didn't even resist; it was only after a moment's reflection that she realized he was kissing her right back. Something… something was strange… there was a wet, salty quality to their kiss- to him she tasted like tears and life, and to her he tasted like blood and death and the moment seemed to go on and on and on- and the crimson pool was widening, widening, the drips of dark red droplets synchronizing with the pounding rythm of their dying hearts- spiralling down, beautifully, endlessly, _hopelessly_…

And then he was limp in her arms.

_And then the remainders of life left his body… _

Expressionless, she laid his head on the ground and stood up without a second look at his unbearably calm, unperturbed face. She didn't even waver on the spot as she glared hard at the wall, her hands balling into fists, one sacred horn still embedded deep in Tia's lung and the other one discarded on the floor somewhere.

She stared hard at the beautiful painting of Hathor on the wall, the soothing Henna-coloured torch light stroking the deity's bronzed skin almost reverently. Something in the Queen seemed to have blossomed- something infinitely wise and sorrowful, a heartwrenching will-power to set things right again. She wiped the tingling humidity from her face with her wrist in an almost childlike gesture, before opening her mouth to speak.

"Would you like to tell me… what I have to live for now, sister?"

She swore that something seemed to whisper across the air- like a tangible current undulating through the stuffy atmosphere of the chamber, as though the powers of the Gods had suddenly sparked to life and were threatening to make the small chamber burst.

"I would like to make an offer to you, sacred Ones," Nefertiri whispered, no longer trusting her voice, feeling her throat constrict further as the body of her lover seemed to burn at her feet, his body heat not yet completely gone.

"I will make any sacrifice- suffer any punishment- do _anything _that would please you, just if you would grant me this small request…"

Her eyes fell down to Tia's handsome, sleepy face, and unblinkingly she took in every little detail of that face, that face she'd known since childhood- the face that had always been hotwired into her mind's eye, the face of the man she'd given her body and soul to… _the face of the man she'd killed._

"I want to set things right, sister," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I don't want to use my reincarnation to kill Anck-su-Namun. I don't want that any more. Please… _please_… I don't want that any more. Don't make a reincarnation of Anck-su-Namun, I beg of you, don't. Don't."

She could almost sense Set smiling cruelly somewhere in the darkest recess of her nightmare.

"Let my child live. Grant him a peaceful life. I give you this sacrifice…" She waved a hand in Henutmire's direction, "… in hopes that you will be satisfied enough to fulfill this request. And… as for my reincarnation…" This time, she lay a hand on her belly, where she had carved out the lotus flower- symbol of rebirth, the ultimate spell to grant oneself a reincarnation in ages to come. "I don't want her to be a sprite of vengeance. I don't want her to live solely to kill the last of the traitors who died before I could get to her. Anck-su-Namun is dead… it would be ridiculous to drag her back from the Underworld just for the sake of finishing her off again. I don't know _why_ I harbored such thoughts, such beliefs, before. So, my reincarnation… I want her to be that 'gentle, loving spirit' that …he spoke of. I want… I want her to be granted a second chance… I want to be granted a second chance with him…"

Here, she dropped to her knees before the corpse of her lover, head hanging, eyes lowered. She could hardly believe what she was saying, what she was forsaking, what the hell she was _doing_. How had it all come down to this…?

"I… I give you this sacrifice…" she stammered, laying a trembling hand on Tia's immobile chest, "_Please… grant us a second chance…_"

_How had it all come down to this?_

**xxx**

_The rotting, decayed hand of the jackal-headed god balled into a fist, the burnt skin crackling and the muscles stretching horribly. _

"_She thinks she can toy with us like this," he growled threateningly, his horrendously raspy voice leaving his throat ragingly. "She thinks she can change her mind every decade, asking us to do this, asking us to do that…"_

"_Nevertheless, has she not boasted your ranks with countless murders, my friend?" spoke the God of darkness, sitting back in His churning black pool of obscure arms and hands from which one could hear the soft, demented laughter of a child. _

"_Countless!" the jackal-headed monster of a deity snarled, his putrid lips curling up over those sharp, blood-stained teeth of his. _

"_Twenty-six is much for a single female assassin, in the space of two years. Or, was it three? Ah, a deity's perception of time…" The dark God was playing with the string of a particular human's life, bending it, twisting it around his finger without much gentleness. _

"_Indeed. I rather preferred her when she was that mindless assassin, before she became what she is now- a simpering, pitifully emotive wreck of a woman-"_

"_I wonder whether or not sweet Hathor will heed her words. The dear Goddess has always had much compassion for human love, after all." The string of human life snapped in Set's sharp fingers, and He carelessly threw the two halves into His darkness, plucking another one out from the churning depths and twisting it around and around His nimble fingers. _

"_I do wish you would stop that," Anubis sighed irritably, the guttural sound of that sigh rattling disgustingly in his holey throat. "You speak of her boasting my numbers, when you cause hundreds of deaths simply by playing around with those things."_

"_Ammut is hungry," Set snarled, "She is not the only one who does not like this retaining of souls, this talk of reincarnations. If we did not have to save Nefertiri's soul for her reincarnation, Ammut would have a very rich meal, you see. The Queen's heart must weigh heavier than the Pyramids themselves."_

_Anubis scratched the dry skin behind his ear, his long fingernails digging up flakes of the cracked, brown skin._

"_I have never before succumbed to the caprice of humans, you know. But this could be entertaining." The great jackal-headed God thought for a while. "Oh… that concubine's soul is rather beautiful. I should like to keep it. It would be interesting to make a scandal of Nefertiri's reincarnation… I have an idea."_

"_My dear friend," Set was shaking his great head, disturbing the eerie waves of purplish darkness that floated around him, "Please. Don't go toying with human destinies again. It's very tedious to take care of everything afterwards."_

"_That Scorpion King was a joke," Anubis growled impatiently, "Here is what I think; let us grant the Queen's wish. Let us keep Tia's soul, save it for a reincarnation, in order to 'give them a second chance'. But let us create a legend… the legend of the vengeful Queen who sacrificed herself in order to meet with her nemesis in another life, just for the sake of killing this nemesis with her own hands."_

_Set studied the eager God of death with a peculiar expression on His obscured face._

"_This is trivia, my friend. You are speaking like a common human housewife." The God of darkness ignored Anubis's very canine-like growl, "And, I thought that Nefertiri asked us to grant her a second chance with her lover _insteadof_ a second chance to kill that concubine?"_

"_We will grant her both wishes," Anubis was smiling now, a horrid, rotting smile, "It will be an excuse for the eventual Egyptologist who wants to drag her soul into the reincarnated body we will grant her."_

_Set sighed, a melancholic though rather disturbing sound.  
"Alright. Though, you are creating complications for no apparent reason. Unless…" it was the dark God's turn to smile wickedly, "Unless you just want an excuse to keep the soul of that concubine a little longer?"_

"_I don't know what you mean," the jackal-headed God said indignantly, "Why don't you take Nefertiri's string of life from that darkness of yours, now."_

_Set was almost taken aback. _

"_I cannot choose the lives that I end, Anubis. The strings of life that are presented to me are… shall we say, ripe for the picking. I can't simply pluck the string of life from a healthy young woman and sever it just like that."_

"_Well, search anyway." Anubis had a particularly twisted expression on his pointed-nosed face. "I'm sure that Nefertiri's life is ripe for the picking, as you put it… she has lost too many things for a mere human being to handle. I'm sure she would not object to a quick, painless death."_

_Set studied the jackal-headed God's beady eyes just a little longer, then sank his arm into the deep blackness that clouded around him like some kind of plague, sighing softly._

"_Good…" Anubis almost rubbed his rotting hands together in eagerness. "And, I daresay I'm rather curious to find out what Nefertiri's ka looks like."_

_Perhaps it was a second later that Set retracted his arm with two fingers pulling a long, ghostly white string from the darkness, or perhaps it had been several months- or maybe even several years. But time didn't matter for the two dark Gods. Anubis smiled a crooked smile as Set rested his black gaze on the glowing string that lay on his palm. _

"_Sever it," ordered the jackal-headed God._

"…_Why?" It was a question of pure curiosity. He was going to sever it anyway, since it had been 'ripe for the picking'. _

"_Because I want her soul. I want to have it where I can keep an eye on it until the time comes for us to send her back into the living world."_

"_Anubis…" The God of darkness began to wind the Queen's string of life around his finger as he spoke; "What about the soul that will temporarily inhabit her reincarnated body? What will happen when Nefertiri regains control of the body? Two souls cannot live in the same body, you know that."_

_Anubis apparently hadn't thought of this. He eyed the glowing string with those glinting, slanted eyes, before smiling a terrible smile._

"_We shall see."_

_Then the glowing string of life snapped._

* * *

a&n : Ugn, I completely screwed up the whole ancient egyptian concept of death/rebirth. NOES. You must understand that, when I first thought up of this story, last year (in other words, 'a zillion years ago when I was a mere child'), I didn't know that Ptah was NOT the god of darkness, as I put in earlier chapters. To put everything simply, I wrecked the whole ancient Egyptian truth of what is involved in this fic... but, isn't that what Steven Sommers did with his films? ;) Anyways, I know you're feeling all "but, but, it's not supposed to happen like that!" and bitter about me being so wrong about all this egyptian stuff, but don't worry- this is just a simple fanfiction! (that, nevertheless, I am _dying_ to finish) Reviews would mean heaps to me- even if it's to yell your head off at me for being so ignorant in ancient Egyptian culture. :) Muah.  
ps : If this chapter had been cool enough to be dedicated to someone... I would've dedicated it to Estora, for being such a sweetheart and best friend and awesome writer and all that, and to PrincessAnck, for... being insanely cool and liking the same fandoms as me. :) See you! 


	18. Last Breath

**a&n:** YO! My hands are sweaty as I write this, since I'm not sure if anyone's still out there bearing with me and I'll be kind of really disappointed with myself if no one gives me any feedback. I **know**, two months, it's horrible, it's long, it's unforgivable- but this chapter was so hard to write, for some reason. Anyway, **read till the end** since the beginning is where I struggled the most and it's not very fluent but, I'm actually really happy with how the ending turned out so** please, please, please tell me what you think!** Let me know you're still out there! And flame me for being too slow, for Chrissakes!  
**music: **_Art of Noise: Moments in love _for the beginning, definately. And, the end... _Amethystium_.

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter Eighteen  
_Last Breath_**

**xxx**

Her eyes were wide open, her hair static and her limbs white as snow as she suddenly reeled up into a sitting position, a tearing gasp flying from her cracked lips. The personalities hadn't yet settled, the hearts hadn't yet mended and the mind hadn't yet begun formulating thoughts of its own when her limp arms flung outwards and encircled the broad shoulders of a man who was seated at her side.

"_You're alive_," Nefertiri whispered in the man's ear, whilst it was Evelyn's teeth that grazed the delicate contours of the lobe as she spoke.

There was a moment of suspension, a moment where the pulse of his beating heart against the tender skin between her breasts and the feel of his breath on her throat seemed to take hold of her mind and stretch her consciousness to the breaking point- but then it was consciousness itself that came flooding back to her, precious consciousness that brought with it memories and emotions and opinions and, primordially, knowledge about who it really was that she was embracing.

He didn't have a spike through his lung, he didn't have blood on lips, and he wasn't dying a heart-wrenchingly beautiful death.

He was Ardeth, and he was inhaling the musky scent of her hair, his forearms draped across her back as he held her tightly against his chest, fingers and nails digging into her flesh as his possessive embrace almost squeezed the breath out of her.

"Evelyn."

His voice was just as low and scratchy as her own, and the limp though somehow ferocious woman almost gave a start at the sound of that name tumbling from his lips. Such a long time seemed to have passed since she'd heard someone utter it. Such a long time it had been… since she had been herself. The soft, slightly crazy (but not to the point of killing people for the pleasure of it), emotional librarian who spent her time poring over books and being spun off her feet by her American husband and caring for her beloved son.

The librarian in whose hands all manners of weapons seemed to come alive.

The librarian who had resurrected all kinds of horrors from a past life that she had come to be terrified of. But then again, as they say, ignorance always begets fear; fear of the unknown. Evelyn Carnavon hadn't known- no, hadn't _admitted_ to being a reincarnation. Because somewhere, somehow, Evelyn Carnavon had always known that all this incredible knowledge- the ease with which she spoke the ancient tongue and rendered all of her study partners jealous, the faint feeling of deja-vu when looking upon grainy, black-and-white pictures of Egyptian monuments- all of it had to sum up to something, in the end. Evelyn Carnavon had believed that she had a simple mortal's gift. Because she had been down-to-earth like that.

Evelyn O'Connell had known for a fact, had finally admitted that she was a reincarnation. Evelyn O'Connell had dreams, she had visions during which she could only stare through a glazed window at the tale of her first life. She didn't completely understand her alter-ego, simply because she didn't know the whole tale yet. She didn't know how the story ended, and the end of a story is always the best, the part where the hidden moral is finally revealed. She had judged her alter-ego, and she had loathed being the reincarnation of such a person... once upon a time.

Now, Evelyn (was she still worthy of a name?) had finally come to the end of the tale. She'd stumbled along, hand in hand with her alter-ego, and though sometimes she had been dragged forwards like a cowering child with her hands before her eyes, she had gradually managed to find a way to see clearer into Nefertiri's mind. She had found a way to pierce Nefertiri's thoughts because she _was_ Nefertiri. And Nefertiri was her.

She'd come to understand that, now. She was, inevitably, a part of Nefertiri, and vice-versa, but… surprisingly, she didn't loathe it. No, she had finished the story- Nefertiri had told her everything, letting her flip through the pages of her life to the last, blood-stained parchment, and now Evelyn could almost tangibly _feel_ the part of herself that inexorably linked her to the Queen sink back, like a cat lowering its head in a posed kind of way, relaxing and waiting for her reaction.

Now that she had come to the end of Nefertiri's tale… what had she really found out? Which fears had been appeased, which ones rekindled? She was struggling, struggling internally with all her might to see which emotion ruled supreme now- she could still feel the tingle of dried tears on her powdered cheeks, the lingering feeling of silken hair between her fingers as she cradled Tia's head in her hands…

_What did she feel?_

The last piece of the puzzle seemed to be adrift, lost in the raging whirlpool out of which she'd been trying to fish out the truths that she so desperately sought, one by one, ever since she was a child- ever since she'd looked on her own mother and seen a stranger, ever since that terrible night when she'd been not even ten and she'd been hospitalized for dangerous reactions to the sight of blood on her hands. She could remember it all too clearly… it had just been a cut to the finger, quite painless but very messy. Everything seemed to have clashed together like storm clouds in her mind and she'd stared at her crimson fingers for a long time, before freaking out completely. And then she'd been in a hospital bed, shrieking angrily despite the drugs that Jonathan- who always came to her bedside- was not her brother, couldn't be her brother, that she didn't recognize him for who he was…

All that had had a meaning. But _what_ meaning, she could only hazard wild guesses, until she'd begun to have more than just abstract dreams. Sweet, teenage Evelyn who dreamt of dark, passionate encounters with a man who was a stranger in real life and a lover in metaphysical life… if that's how she should call it. Troubled, young adult Evelyn who just knew where to find things, knew how to read and write and _speak_ ancient Egyptian without even having to pass through studies of Coptic or huge grammatical dictionaries.

What was the meaning of it all? Why had Nefertiri shown her all of this, when the Queen could've just as easily left her in that ignorance, in that terrible fear…?

But then she felt Ardeth's lips move like satin over the skin of her throat, and all of her thoughts drained away; worthless, meaningless as they seemed.

"I'm going to lay you back down, and you're going to pretend to be unconscious."

Evelyn blinked, startled all of a sudden. What the- ? What was she _doing_? It seemed that an eternity had passed, while she sat there snuggled up against her old friend's chest, arms around his shoulders and head leaning against the side of his neck. Reality seemed to burst out of nothing and kick her in the teeth- she instantly tried to spring away from him as if he had some kind of contagious disease, but it seemed he'd been expecting that, and despite her indignant wriggling he continued to hold her in an iron grip. She felt her cheeks flush red all of a sudden, and something along the lines of 'old habits die hard' seemed to cross her mind, almost making her scoff- but it wasn't simply for the sake of old habits that she would let herself cling to her old friend like that! …but, after a moment, she seemed to detect a pattern of thoughts that her mind was processing, and for a moment she was dazzled by the way her thoughts seem to come automatically. It almost frightened her. She was married – she had a son – she couldn't go around hugging everyone like some lusting bachelorette – Ardeth was an old friend and nothing more… but… was she really like that, now? Was that really how she thought, after all this? Or… or was she simply clinging to the part of herself that was still recognizable as Evelyn O'Connell, desperately, possessively, as though everything else- the entire _world_ that she'd constructed around herself- was crumbling?

Where was her _mind_ at?

"Evelyn," Ardeth's mouth moved against her skin again, and she felt him gently easing her down without relinquishing his hold on her, as if he'd stay in her arms when she'd have her back on the straw mat and her head on the makeshift pillow again. But she stubbornly pushed against him, staying upright, giving up her vain wriggling and locking her arms around his shoulders so as to have secure hold on him. She needed him to listen, now- she needed to say all these things to him. She had to make him understand what she understood, and there was no way in _hell_ that she'd lie down and play dead to suit his purposes. He needed to listen to her at all costs, and _now_.

"Stay here, stay here," she absently murmured, not caring in the slightest that her voice sounded raw and raspy after days of neglect and carefully unwinding her arms from his neck.

"Eve, I'm not going anywhere… didn't you hear me- ?"

But she ran over his words, heedless of that look in his obsidian eyes as she wedged enough space between them to be able to contemplate his face.  
"Stay, _stay_," she repeated almost incoherently, sweeping the straw mat with her fingers and casting her eyes to the floor, as if she was searching for something. "Ardeth, listen to me." The dark Medji cocked his head to the side a little hopelessly, seemingly exasperated as he let his arms slide away from her waist (and that was _not_ reluctance that she saw in his gestures) and let his hands drop to the rough, uneven ground beside the straw mat. He watched the fidgeting woman before him with a certain curiosity – curiosity that turned to bitter fear when he realized she was groping around to try and find something that could help her to get onto her feet.

"Evelyn, don't- don't get up, you're still very weak-"

But then she turned her gaze to him, and those eyes- those eyes that had been shielded from him behind translucent eyelids just minutes before- they bore such an intense spark of excitement and _life_ that his words died on his tongue, and he simply sat there staring at her, as though thinking to himself what in the name of Allah had happened for her to look so eager and fearless and maybe even _happy_, in some twisted kind of way.

"Ardeth," she breathed, her voice hideously dry and her skin corpse-white; adding these elements to that startlingly bright flame of life that burned relentlessly in her eyes made her look peculiarly undead. The Medji quickly cast that thought far away as soon as it had formulated in his exhausted mind, restraining a groan of something worse than exasperation, and abided by her will. He said nothing more and simply listened, though a tinge of impatience seemed to mar his calm expression.

Evelyn opened her chalk-white lips to speak.

"I know everything."

And it was true- not even the skeptical look that immediately splashed into the Medji's dark eyes as his mind registered the three simple words fazed her. She had finally understood- that last piece of the puzzle seemed to have docilely found its way to her searching fingers, and it was so painstakingly _simple_. The answer had been there all along- she'd simply had too many obstacles to confront it wholly before. And she was so excited now, almost abnormally so- perhaps it was because she had finally dug up that knowledge that so many humans spend their entire lifetimes vainly searching for. She had found out the meaning of her existence, however cliché that may sound- she knew now why she and Nefertiri were linked like this, why she'd been assaulted by all those visions, those visions that Nefertiri had given her gradually at first and then desperately, shooting images and scenes at her without once pausing to let her breathe or recollect her thoughts.

She knew everything, she knew it all, to the point where she could recite it from back to front to someone if she wanted- it was like that old feeling of finishing the study of a particular Pharaoh's life back in her old library, it was _her_ feeling of accomplishment. (As opposed to that of her alter-ego.) And her eyes seemed to be on fire as Ardeth looked into them, unable to rip his attention away, unable to rid himself of this burning spell that she seemed to somehow hold him under.

The words burst unhindered from her lips. "I know everything," she repeated, still shifting around while trying to get up so that she was on her hands and knees as she spoke; "Nefertiri isn't evil, Ardeth, she doesn't want to take over the world because she's _me, _she's me, she's me! I never realized it before, it's so _obvious_… we're one and the same, Ardeth, we always have been. She never wanted to murder countless innocents, it was only because Anck-su-Namun murdered her father and she had serious problems with her emotional stability and Rameses was half-manipulating her anyway, God, Jonathan is such a wonderful brother now that I think about it- but anyway- anyway, um, there's something very, very important about Tia and I that you should-"

But then Ardeth's hand slicing through the air and capturing her mouth silenced her in her tirade; she only had the time to squeal the remaining words that she had been planning to say into the rough skin of his fingers, her eyes darting to find his and capture them in a smoldering gaze. Then as her eyebrows shot sky-high in surprise and indignity, she found that the dark Medji had knocked himself against her and flattened her down onto the straw mattress with nothing but his body weight. Which was, decidedly, not really 'nothing'- even though he'd considerably thinned over the weeks, he still managed to pin her down to the scratchy mattress with his hand still over her mouth and his body crushing hers, rendering any attempt that she might make to wriggle out from under him completely useless.

At first, the only thing she felt was the irritation at being interrupted so rudely- but then, she found herself irritably blushing again as she became all too aware of the awkward position they were in-

Footsteps dragged across the sand just outside of their tent entrance.

The tent flaps were closed, of course, but the guards were out there, patrolling as always and talking grimly amongst themselves. Eve's heart was pounding as though these weeks during which she had been unconscious had dulled it, and it was happily communicating its eagerness at being properly usable again. Ardeth was visibly straining his ears to listen to the noises that the guards were making- maybe he was trying to evaluate the distance between their trudging feet and the fluttering tent flaps- whilst all that Eve could think about were the goosebumps that were traitorously spreading over her skin as the dark swordsman's breath played over her collarbone. She knew she couldn't afford to have these ridiculous thoughts at this particular time but- but she was confused and splattered like a limp fish against the straw mattress beneath the body of that man she'd so passionately cherished before, and she couldn't stop her hormones from screaming outrageously against this sudden, blaring contact. And, what was she talking about _hormones_, at her age, anyway?

_Pfft… 'at her age'… how old do I think I am?_

But her mind seemed to suddenly malfunction in the face of this question. She gulped a little, realizing that that question wasn't sarcastic at all. _Oh, mother…_

… _who isn't even my real mother._

Her shoulders drooped a little_. For god's sake_. This platter of knowledge that Nefertiri had generously offered to her seemed to weigh down on her as realization dawned on her more and more- it was like reaching the end of a thriller novel, and wanting to read it all again so as to snicker smugly and say "I understand that part now" at all the scenes that were meant to be clues for the ultimate truth. Then she was all a-fizzle again as she was pricked by the desire to tell all of that delicious knowledge to her dark Medji friend… the man who was more than her mere _friend_, yet he didn't yet know it…

The guards outside the tent flaps drew dangerously close, and even Evelyn's mind's voice decided to shut up, as if she was afraid that it was somehow explosively loud and if it continued to blabber in her inner ear, it would reveal her consciousness to the guards outside.

"You are unconscious," Ardeth's voice whispered into her ear, and she inwardly cursed him for making her shiver again, her fists shaking a little between their bodies. He said it like an order- he didn't even check to see if she'd nodded or anything.

Then they both listened, hardly even twitching as they lay embarrassingly entwined on the straw mat.

"… punched him square in the face! I swear, that woman's barkin' _mad_!" barked a voice with a slightly Scottish accent, the clinking of the buckles and straps on his clothes merging quite comfortably with the high pitch of his voice.

"It's understandable, mate. She's been waitin' over a month, now. An' those guys that we 'eard in the desert- y'know, that explosion thing- they're bound to come crashin' down on our 'eads if we don't hurry the hell up and slap that blerdy woman out of her coma." The second voice was typically English, maybe even a little southern in a way. He sounded just about as furious as his friend, but he expressed it in a different way- a more dangerous way, like the difference between a little yapping dog and the low, menacing growl of a larger animal.

"I hope Leeu doesn't get more crazy than she is now… she's gonna end up committing homicide! She doesn't even _need_ monthly cycles to go crazy! I swear, I've never encountered a woman like her before." The Scottish guy seemed to be split between admiration and disdain for Leeu, speaking rapidly and shifting something on his back at the same time- it sounded like a particularly heavy backpack.

"Well, let's hope that wha'ever incantations that Arab dude seems to be fond of actually work, and that our comatose captive is gettin' closer to consciousness every passing hour, or I'll throttle that damn nomad's neck with me own 'ands." Since they were practically breathing into each other's mouths, Eve half-expected to feel a strange bump in Ardeth's throat as he swallowed, but she'd forgotten how self-confident the Medji could be. There was no way he'd be intimidating by a couple of little gangster people who thought they sounded cool when they made threats. "I thought I spotted some dark spot in the horizon a few days ago. Let's hope the guys that are following us in their aircraft caboodle have gotten lost in the expanse of desert that we crossed…"

It may have been because Eve's subconscious was concentrating more on the sound of Ardeth's deep, anticipant breaths than on the conversation outside their tent flaps, but it seemed to her that the voices were fading slightly, as if the guards were shuffling on their way.

"… but, even if their numbers filled up a facking _airplane,_ they would be completely outnumbered by us. Well, maybe not by us guards, but give the workers a bit of extra cash and I'm sure they'd have enough strength to smash up a few skulls with those sturdy spades of theirs." The English guy guffawed stupidly as he finished his phrase, and the painfully high-pitched laughter of his Scottish partner soon joined him.

"Hey, when you've got such an attractive mistress to work for, I'm not sure it would be cash that the male workers would ask for…"

The two men wandered off, their obscene conversation drifting away with them until their voices and footsteps mingled with the rest of the sounds of the camp- drunken laughter, running through sand, the mute sound of horse's hooves stamping down in the same sun-heated sand alleyways between tents and makeshift stands.

It seemed that hours trickled by as the couple on the straw mat stayed frozen to make sure no one else would come running up to their tent to stumble in upon a supposedly unconscious woman talking animatedly to her bandaged friend.

"Um… Ardeth, could you, uh…?"

There was a chorus of mumbled "excuse me"s and grunts and groans as the two weakened captives untangled themselves from one another. But then, as Eve settled down on the mat in a seated position- sitting on her heels with her hands laced together on her lap- and Ardeth sat in a very manly position a little way away from her, but not too far away so that the side of his foot stayed in contact with her calf, as if this was some kind of extra caution (if she ever tried to get up again, he'd kick her back down or something like that), both of them seemed to relax into the usual warm familiarity that had always reigned between them.

Eve's pale face almost glowed in the dull light of the tent. She set her eyes on the Medji and patiently watched as he rubbed the back of his neck with his palm in a very Rick-like manner and_ this isn't the time to think about Rick_ messed up his already disheveled hair. She smiled, and instantly her face lost (almost) all of its corpse-y glamour.

"I know why I've been having these visions, Ti- Ardeth," she bit out, cursing herself immediately at that momentary lapse, but her old friend seemed to think nothing of it as he continued to gaze at her thoughtfully, his eyes sparkling eerily in the dark. She opened her mouth again-

"Before you say anything else, I'd just like to inform you that you're wrong."

Eve's face crumpled. She frowned at the Medji, before asking him why he thought that. There was still time- time for a proper discussion, time to lay things flat and do things properly. It's what Nefertiri wanted, after all. It's what she would've done.

"You are not Nefertiri. She is not you. There is a distinct difference between having the natural desire to read and having the natural desire to rip unknown people apart. You just…" The dark Medji sighed, ignoring the way Eve's eyes seemed to narrow with every word that left his mouth. "Both of you are like two different women. You have nothing in common, except that one is the reincarnated body of the other. That is _all_."

He sounded very persuasive. Had she felt otherwise, maybe she would have let him comfort her with those words… but not this time. She felt a tingle of impatience at his words- his flat tone of voice seemed to hint that he wouldn't believe anything other than what he'd told her.

It was her turn to sigh. To his complete surprise, she yanked off her entire shirt in a hurried gesture- he quickly turned his head as he caught the bobbing of her bare bosom in the corner of his eye- _Ardeth, you perverted old man!_- and it was only when he heard Evelyn's snappy "You can _look_, you big baby" that he dared to turn his gaze to her again.

She was holding her crumpled shirt against her breasts to shield herself from his view, and her free hand was sheepishly fingering the enormous tattoo that spread over her entire stomach. It wasn't really a tattoo, more like a dark, black scar that stretched its multiple arms over her pale flesh, greedily holding her slender waistline in its crooked black fingers. It was a lotus flower- the borders of its scorched petals were outlined in black, and its stem rose up from the flimsy fabric that covered Eve's groin, seeming to have been branded into her flesh with a red-hot iron.

"You've seen this already, haven't you?" Eve probed the man as he contemplated the disfigured skin of her belly despite himself. Yes, he had seen this 'tattoo' before, during those medicinal massages that he had become accustomed to give her. And, though he would not admit it, he had permitted himself to run the tip of his finger over each and every one of those fine black lines that twisted and coiled over her snowy skin, wondering how in the name of all things holy this _thing_ had come into existence. How could something as blatant as this simply appear on a person's body? And why now, of all times? …

Eve seemed to read the expressions that flitted one by one across his face like flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia. She fidgeted, a little uncomfortable with her nudity, and then rounded on the Medji who was still fumbling for words, his legs sprawled out and his expression telling her that he absolutely didn't care if he was sitting in the most masculine position in the world in front of a woman as humble and shy as her.

"Do you think I had some sudden urge to tattoo myself like some- like some shameless _punk_ when I was teenager? Is that what you think this mark is? What do you think it means, hm?" she snapped, suddenly offensive. The very idea of a punk Evelyn made Ardeth scoff despite the whole gravity of their situation, and she reached out with her free hand to rap him sharply on the sprawled leg that was closest to her. "I'm serious! This mark means _everything_, it's like Nefertiri's own signature! She created me with her own essence, you see. She offered her life's blood to the Gods and asked them to remake her in a distant time. And… lo and behold." She held out her free hand, and her tongue rolled gracefully to articulate words in the Pharaoh's ancient tongue; "_Here I am again_."

Ardeth rolled his eyes at her.

"You're being ridiculous. Your body is not _you_. Alright," Still the dark man ignored her outraged expression- her lips losing their smile and pouting to form a rather slanted 'o' while her eyes bore into his with an almost metallic vigour, "so perhaps I'll believe that Nefertiri had you made by the Gods themselves. Maybe I'll believe that they safeguarded her soul until her reincarnated body would appear for it- do not be shocked," It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay oblivious to her expression; her eyes were so wide that it was almost comical.

He reached out to grasp her hand, though the Gods only knew why, holding her limp fingers in a weightless hold, though how heavy with significance the gesture seemed to both of their averted eyes.

Then when his words came tumbling from those chapped lips again, it was with infinite tenderness that they graced her ears.  
"My consciousness slips from me too, sometimes, you know…"

She looked at him, first with something that resembled fright, but then her expression quickly morphed into something akin to pity.

"So you know, too? You know about Nefertiri's promise?"

Ardeth frowned. "Promise…?" He had been in Tia's mind during those fitful nights, he had moved with him and wept with him and practically been the man's shadow- but those moments had been scarce during his dreams, like succinct, whirring fragments in an ever-changing mist of red and gold. He didn't know the whole story, he just knew its main backbone- and there had been a moment, very recently, where he had awoken into the real world just after releasing what had been Tia's last breath. It had been such a queer experience- quite literally waking as though born again- that he hadn't had enough guts to face a trip to Evelyn's hut that day. But he had gathered enough information from his previous dreams to scrape together a semblance of truth; Nefertiri had made a sacrifice- her own blood- in order to make herself a reincarnation, so that she may be granted a second chance to kill Anck-su-Namun in a later life. Nefertiri had then lost what was left of her mind. Had killed the one person who still truly loved her. And had most probably killed herself soon after, judging by her reaction to Tia's death (or, what Ardeth had seen of it) and the deep, complex feelings that had reigned between the two lovers.

That was what he knew, that was what he believed. And no amount of twisted truths that Evelyn would utter could shake those beliefs, even in the slightest.

(…that's what he told himself, anyway.)

Evelyn's eyes were twinkling with an eager knowledge, pretty much like a child who was selfishly happy to know something that no one else knew- for a moment she seemed to hesitate, caught between the privilege of knowing this singular fact and wanting Ardeth to know everything she knew, to understand this whole tale as well as she… but…

She gently lifted the hand that he was holding, slipping the fingers from his with a satiny slowness, easing out of his grip… and reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with one bent finger, blushing inwardly as Ardeth's dark eyes followed her gesture with pinpoint accuracy.

Something inside her mind seemed to click. She couldn't tell him… not now. Not when he wasn't ready, not when he was looking at her like _that_.

He'd do something terrible, she could just sense it.

"The promise that she made to live again," she said, and then to reinforce this weak fact she decided to go ahead and make it seem like there was nothing else to it. "The promise that she made to make a new body, to reign in another age!" Her voice rose, her cheeks flushed- perfect, all perfect. He wouldn't see through her act; she'd come to understand that if Tia and Ardeth shared any personality traits, it was that godawful naivety that swallowed their minds whenever they were around someone they cared about.

"That body is me, Ardeth, that's what I'm living for- I mean, that's the reason for my existence." The hand that was twisted up in Eve's shirt, hiding her bosom, seemed to tighten its hold- the knuckles went white, and the fabric seemed to strain between her fingers. She wasn't listening as the Medji counter-attacked; she had started this tirade, and she would finish it with a huge tonality crescendo if he continued to try and interrupt her. She had to get this out, at least- if she wasn't quite ready to tell him one truth yet, then she had to tell him the other one as fast as possible- time was running out. "You were right- you surprised me, but you were- when you said that the gods were safeguarding Nefertiri's soul for this body of mine." She pointedly ignored the Medji as he lifted a finger, an eyebrow darting upwards and his mouth forming the words 'you see!', "I never really was the kind of person who believed in things that are 'meant to be', but… this isn't something that I can just walk away from. What will there be for me if I walk away from this chance? What will I _be_, if not this, Ardeth? Can you tell me that?"

The dark warrior for God couldn't quite believe his ears. It wasn't even Eve's words themselves that shocked him, it was more that _resigned_ tone of voice that she seemed to have- like she had suddenly accepted all of this, like she was resigning to this life. That she was ready to embark on some kind of crazy journey that was the windy boat ride between this world and the next- just because, for some unfathomable reason, she had suddenly decided that it was _okay_ to lend- no, to _give- _her body to Nefertiri.

Why? What had suddenly come over her? And… what _was_ this maddening urge to keep her here, here where they were both alone, where they could stay together and just sit in each other's presence for such long periods of time… but the Medji discarded that thought almost straight away. There was no time to deal with his own feelings- he had to get a secure grip on Eve's mind and somehow turn it all the way back around, and make her see sense. He couldn't let her get so lost in her delusion that the hopes of getting her sane again would dwindle to nothing. He had to get her out of there.

She was still speaking to him, spouting things about how Nefertiri and her were alike and how Nefertiri was really a good person and besides, the changing of souls wouldn't make such a huge difference because both women were kind and considerate beings, at the core, and both women were passionate and curious and both simply longed to live for love, and was that so hard to understand, after all?

"But Eve," Ardeth interrupted her desperately, gripping her hand and squeezing the blood out of her already pale fingers, "Don't you have that? Don't you already have a horde of people who love you, and whom you supposedly cherish?"

The rough tips of his thumb and index were grinding uncomfortably against the golden ring that glittered feebly on her wedding finger.

But when Ardeth next set his eyes on hers, he was almost taken aback by the look that had dropped into those dark chocolate depths. Her irises glowed peculiarly, like two little piles of ash covering up ember hearts- she seemed to be steadily closing something deep inside herself, breathing, breathing as she cracked open her own heart and absently watched as the blood started to pool. She was forgetting them, he realized just a tad too late- from the minute she'd awoken with her mission in mind, she'd been trying as hard as she could to simply forget all the people she loved, one by one, just to make her task easier.

And an inhuman task it was, Ardeth thought with a severe frown, feeling so hopeless that he might as well give up the silly calm face and shake her shoulders till she rattled whilst screaming at her to snap out of it. How could one sacrifice oneself for the sake of fulfilling what one knows is written in the books of Destiny? How? What had happened to that tinge of rebellion that had always resided in a corner of Eve's orderly mind?

She was staring hard at him.

"I don't need them," she said after a deep, deep breath.

He wouldn't hear it.

"You married him. You stayed with him for-" Oh, sod the maths. "- Allah knows how long." At this point, Ardeth's voice was a little too loud, a little too urgent for Eve's liking, judging by the way she winced at every one of his stabbing words- but he didn't care. He didn't care _how_ he twisted her mind the right way round again, as long as it worked. He needed _her_, even if she didn't need him, for the sake of all things holy. "Eve, you bore him a _son_! And don't you love Alex, either? So, what you're really saying is that you've lost all maternal _and_ spousal affection, along with that piece of _sanity_ your mind used to possess?" He scoffed at this- as if even the thought itself was too ridiculous to be considered, too absurd to be attributed to _Evelyn-_ the person who perhaps had loved too much for her own good. His hand was twisting Eve's at a bit of a harsh angle, now- and he still didn't care to react to the look on her face. "Your family, Evelyn! The people who chose to love you! The people whom you chose to spend your life with!"  
"Yes well, it seems I've chosen another path now," Eve's voice was raspy and low, but it nevertheless sliced through his own as though his tone of voice was nothing more than some weak, insignificant whisper, and not this clear baritone that was making both of their eardrums flap. She was staring at him steadily, her eyes still as black as before- both of them were cooped up in their argument, both completely concentrating on the other, and neither was concerned in the slightest for eventual ears that the tent walls might've spouted during their argument.

It was too late to worry about eavesdroppers, anyway. Ardeth could see where this was going.  
Eve was going to give herself up. And he was running out of excuses to keep her here.

Sure enough, Evelyn's hand slipped out of his own, where his iron grip had somehow slackened, and she was on her unsteady feet before he could stop her, her arms reaching up to the heavens as she let the flimsy shirt fall onto her scared torso, covering her up.  
"I don't care about anything. I don't care any more," she was muttering, as though to herself, "This is my path. I'm going to follow it."

"Evel-"

"STOP IT!" The soft, sweet librarian suddenly whirred around and screamed at the top of her lungs, eyes wide and desperate and just about as demented as her hair that hung static around her sallow face; "Stop making this harder than it already is, alright!? Just- please- stop it! Be quiet! Let me- let me go."

There were no options left now, the dark Medji realized at last as he sprang to his feet and took a mammoth step in her direction as she hurried to reach the tent flaps, wobbling clumsily on her legs- then just as she tripped over her own feet, releasing a pitiful little "oh!" as she swayed to the side, Ardeth flung out an arm and hooked it around her waspy waist, dragging her to him and crushing her against his chest, battered and heaving though it was.

His lips were just by her ear, and her chin was digging into his shoulder, panting in indignity as she tried to push against his chest. But then his fingers had found her nape and were skating hesitantly across her skin, and she froze just as his palm came down on the back of her head and his arm tightened its hold around her waist, holding her deliciously close.

"Please, Evelyn… if it's so hard, then why go? Please…" he was whispering into her ear, electrifying her spine, "If only for me, won't you stay? Won't you?"

Her hands skidded slightly over his bandaged chest as she squeezed her eyes shut. He could feel her going slightly limp against him, though he knew he would be a fool to trust that spark of hope that was suddenly taking form.

She didn't even tilt her face toward his ear, but the muffled words (or were they sobs?) that she uttered were somehow crystal clear to him.

"Don't you understand? This… this entire story… it's always been about you."  
His brow furrowed.  
"I have to go, and I'm going… _for you_."

The last words were in an ancient language that both now despised, and he was so taken aback- Ardeth, the usually imperturbable warrior for God- that he relinquished his hold on her waist, staying stone still as she peeled herself off of him with the help of her shaking palms against his chest. She couldn't decide whether to hide her face or look up at him to see what his reaction was- so she simply kept her eyes closed, her forehead coming to lean against his and her fingers reaching hesitantly for his tattooed cheek.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, for no apparent reason, the tips of her frozen fingers touching his burning skin. He guessed that it was not to him that she was saying sorry- perhaps it was intended for her husband (or was that 'late' husband?), or perhaps her son, or perhaps herself, even- nevertheless, nothing mattered. Even this impossible moment felt like some ephemeral part of a dream that neither would remember when they awoke.

Maybe he would have kissed her.

Maybe she wouldn't have resisted.

Maybe there was some other way out of this, and it was staring at them in the face, but they wouldn't look in its direction, because they were stubbornly clinging to the precious seconds that were left.

Ardeth didn't really know how long they had been holding onto each other, but he knew that when his arms were icy with her absence, his lips were suddenly wetter than before and his throat was too dry- too dry for him to breath. She turned her back to him and headed lopsidedly towards the tent flaps, and he couldn't utter a word. He didn't know what to say. He… didn't know what to think, what to do. Should he run after her again? Should he ask her why his lips were tingling and she had her hand cupped around her own in that self-conscious way as she reached out for the tent flaps with her free hand?

The tent flaps lifted before Eve even had the chance to graze them with her white fingers. Leeu was standing outside the tent, her head bowed as she looked at the floor, arm up and supporting the tent flaps, opening the doorway for the martyr.

The black woman wouldn't even have known that she could hold such an expression in her nightshade eyes. There was no pity, no sympathy, none of that- just a very very bold and swelling respect for this woman who called herself Evelyn O'Connell, as well as intimidation beyond any imagination. Who was this woman to be so brave? So self-sacrificing?

The black viper did not look up as Evelyn passed her by, did not look up as two red-clad guards took Evelyn by the elbows and supported her in her almost-proud march. She only looked up once Evelyn had passed her and was advancing down the alleyway between makeshift tents, walking away with her head held high and her shoulders square, completely ignoring the baffled looks of the slaves and workers. An entire procession of red-clad soldiers was following her now- probably the group that would pray during the summons of the ancient Queen's soul. Their eyes were black and also downcast, as if Eve's resolve was a ray of too-bright, blinding light.

Leeu looked up… but not in the martyr's direction. She looked to her right, into the tent, where Ardeth was still standing, staring right back at her with empty eyes. His tattooed fingers hung limply at his rag-clad thighs, and for a timeless moment the two just stared at each other, and perhaps it was some kind of understanding or some kind of mutual confusion that passed between them, so that just for the tiniest of moments they found themselves on the exact same wavelength. Neither moved for a long, long time.

And then something in the dark Medji's mind suddenly snapped.

"You…" he stammered, waiting for his pulse to revive itself. "You let her go."

Leeu's fine eyebrow arched delicately. "No, no, no. _You_ let her go, mate."

"You let her go," he repeated obstinately, his voice gaining volume. His enemy stood there supporting the tent flap with one arm, looking at him quite incredulously, but his eyes were already ahead- down the dust-filled street where Evelyn had just turned a corner and disappeared.

Then his lungs seemed to implode as he took a giant breath, leaping forwards with a cry that could have shattered the great temple rocks themselves- he threw his hands onto Leeu's shoulders, crushing the muscles beneath his fingers and yelling all out in her face, in harsh contorted Arabic-

"_Don't you know what you're doing!? You let her go, you careless, ignorant whore!"_

Then before her brain had even begun to decipher the words that were twisted beyond recognition with anger, his palm had sailed to her face and she was flying backward with a throbbing pain on the entire left side of her face, her neck snapping backward, arms flailing out to catch herself- to catch him-

But he was already far from her, racing down the street, his wasted legs pumping back and forth with some inhuman energy- the same black fire that animated his eyes seemed to have taken possession of his being and he was turning round the corner in a cloud of dust, fast as a demon, breaths ragged and fists swinging to and fro like blurs as he looked at the towering statues of the man who had tainted his beloved, looked at the large yellow expressionless faces with such a hatred that it was a wonder those pupil-less eyes didn't crack.

Evelyn was just at the dark doorway of Nefertiri's temple, surrounded by soldiers in red scarves. She was about to sink into the temple's obscure entrance when the Medji burst free of the huddled tents and stands, sprinting towards her, towards the temple, his desperate race calmly observed by four pairs of giant eyes, way up above them all. He yelled out at her, and he didn't stop when two guards came at him from nowhere and grabbed at his arms- he pushed them off, tried again, harder, but they wouldn't loosen their grip- his fists flew, and two noses cracked under his destructive knuckles, and he was suddenly free again- running, running-

But then _ten_ guards were encircling him, rough fingers reaching for his bandaged body, and it was with his arms held behind him and his waist entangled in dozens of arms that he yelled for her again, unable to see her reaction with a wad of red scarf in his face, but somehow he knew that she was looking in his direction, knew that that shocked expression would be on her sweet face, that she would stop in her tracks to look at him- _just look at him_-

"EVELYN!" Arms were around his neck, palms pressed against his face to try and capture his mouth- "_COME BACK!_"

The woman who was about to set loose her soul had indeed stopped in her tracks, and she was looking over her shoulder with a stricken expression marring her beautiful face- despite her efforts to keep calm there were rebellious tears fighting their way down her cheeks, and her mouth hung open as she tried to remember to breathe. She watched as they took him down, made him kneel, made him surrender- his head was yanked back, his arms twisted behind his back and his legs trembling to hold himself up, and the guards were laughing as he tried and tried again to throw them off, fury etched across his face-

But before she could hold any other emotion than deep revulsion for the guards and maybe confusion at Ardeth's reaction, Eve was steered back around by the remaining guards and gently nudged into her temple's gaping jaws.

She stumbled along the dark corridor, not even looking around herself, feeling completely numb. Pitiful as she rubbed away the tear stains on her cheeks with her palms. The torches that the guards held as they walked behind her cast gloomy orange specters on the walls, and she didn't have the heart to recognize the soft glow of the hieroglyph-covered walls as relic memories of her ancient life- she could only think of one thing, hear one thing, see one thing burned into the backs of her eyelids. One of the soldiers slid his hand onto her shoulder at some point, though she hardly registered the contact; it was ridiculous to think they might be encouraging her, but… that's what it looked like. It was almost comical to think that they were encouraging her on her death march.

She coughed- a strange, strangled sound, between laughter and sob.

Her ears still rang with his broken voice, the way he had tried to call her back to him- _no, she hadn't hesitated, she hadn't-_

And then suddenly there was a big burst of scuffling sounds in the tranquil atmosphere of the corridor; Arabic curses echoed left and right, and two pairs of feet seemed to be trying to find a same gait.

"Keep- _still_- damn you-"

The guard with his hand on her shoulder grabbed her forearm and pressed himself against her side, taking hold of her in a protective manner and stepping towards the right wall- all the guards lined up one by one along the right wall of the dimly lit corridor, making space for Leeu and her cherished prisoner. The archway of the chamber they would soon be 'operating' in was just five steps away, and perhaps that was why Eve's heart seemed to plummet heavily downward, or perhaps it was because she knew that voice that was groaning in rebellious pain somewhere behind her. She let the soldier handle her, not caring in the slightest that she was practically under his arm, all shoved up against him; and she desperately tried to keep her eyes ahead, keep her head upright.

Then all too soon they had entered the chamber, the twenty guards and Evelyn and Leeu and Ardeth; Eve's eyes flew around the chamber as soon as she set foot in it, and she took in the all-too-familiar walls and statues of Hathor… one of them was headless, the other was in crumbs on the ground… though the head was still partially intact, and was that the stump of a golden horn she could see, glinting feebly in the torchlight?

Not allowing herself to think, Evelyn went limp in the soldier's arms and let them lower her onto the sacrificial table. They bound her wrists above her head, chaining her feet to the ends of the sleek black tabletop. Then they spread out to form a red, bowing circle around her, dropping onto their knees as they all clasped hands and stared at her still form, lying there in the perfect centre of their formation.

She couldn't breathe.

_She wanted to do this._

Leeu was at the table's side, having traded Ardeth's struggling form for a big shining book made of metal and midnight ink. She stared at Evelyn for a moment… but the librarian had let her eyes slip, her face turned to the side as she watched the two red-clad men who were standing outside of the circle, holding a tamed demon by its elbows.

Ardeth had his head bowed to the side, straggly strands of hair falling over his face. He was on his feet, thankfully- his arms were loosely held by the two guards at his sides. There was nowhere to run. No one to scream to. It was too late.

_Too late too late too late._

He would not look at her.

A dagger of hurt suddenly sank into her ribcage as she noticed this- he seemed to have given up. He had nothing left to say to her, he was no longer fighting to keep her in this reality… whatever reality it was, now…

But she had chosen this path, hadn't she? Why was this bugging her? Why did it feel wrong, all of a sudden, as she lay there watching his bandaged chest heave as he brokenly breathed? Why?

_Why did it hurt so much?_

Leeu had begun reciting the sacred texts, and the circle of kneeling soldiers were rhythmically touching their foreheads to the ground, chanting the name, the name, the name- but they were all far away. Her eyes were riveted on her lover's face- _because he's not just an old friend, not any more- _wanting to know why he wasn't looking back at her, why his hands were trembling and his legs weren't and he still knew how to breathe-

She didn't even realize that she hadn't spared a single thought for her family, or for that scratched golden ring that seemed to be squeezing the life out of her finger; she couldn't rip her eyes from Ardeth's face, hidden and haggard though it was. She only had one thought, one fixation- for him to look up at her, just once, just… one last time.

She gulped as the thought formulated.

_One last time…?_

She hadn't even noticed that the chants had abruptly stopped, that Leeu's monotone reciting of a rather clumsily-written ancient Egyptian spell- something about the creation of elements, about the flood of the Nile, bearing its blue lotus and the rebirth of all things, but phrased in complicated proverbs and constantly interrupted by praise to the Gods- had suddenly dropped to silence. All eyes were on the chocolate-skinned mistress, whose own glinting irises were locked in Ardeth's direction.

"Aren't you looking, my sweet?" she hissed at him from her place by Eve's side. Ardeth didn't budge- his legs slightly apart, his robes rippling slightly as his heaving chest set the obsidian folds into motion. His face was still averted. "Look. Look. Doesn't it feel nice, standing there knowing that you're helpless while your beloved is about to seep away from existence? Doesn't it feel _marvelous_?"

One of the guards made a move to grab the Medji's chin, but Leeu tsk-ed him and he lowered his hand, gazing at his mistress inquiringly.

"He'll look when he's ready. He will, don't worry. He wants to see his love's face once more before those eyes become Queen Nefertiri's. I know he does. But see… the difference here is that at least you get to see her one last time. You get to watch her die. You see, you should consider this as a very generous act on my behalf… because you didn't even grant me the honor of being there while you slaughtered my father." Leeu's voice was frighteningly calm, as smooth and cold as the blade that was tucked in her belt. "I would have given my _life_ to see his fade from his eyes, Ardeth. I wanted to be with him for every single moment of his life- which means, not being beside him while he breathed his last breath… that's unacceptable. _You stole the moment from me_.

"So open your eyes, Medji, and look at her. Look at the woman you love. Look how she's docilely going to let me tear her soul from her body. Look how beautiful it is that you can't do anything about it, save stand there and be the lucky spectator."

Eve's heart seemed to be pounding the table itself, it was resounding so loudly in her battered ribcage. The mistress's words dripped like acid into her chest, and something felt even more wrong than before- what were her reasons again? Why… did she want to do this?

She… she couldn't quite recall…

The chant had begun once again, and Leeu's voice was loud and clear and it rang in her ears as she heard words and phrases that she couldn't understand, because her mind seemed to have been thoroughly wrung time and time again and she could no long think straight- Ardeth was moving his head, he was turning his eyes, he was parting his lips- _he was looking at her_-

And the blood that had long since dried on the walls somehow unstuck itself and shimmered in the air, a million tiny golden droplets that glittered fiercely in the torchlight, their light intensifying as Eve felt the tips of her feet go cold- _cold cold cold_- it seemed that Henutmire's life essence was once again proving useful, if one could say it that way, and the golden beads made her squint as though stars had fallen from the sky and were blinding her as they closed in on her, suffocating her, making it so hard to breath, so hard to cling onto consciousness- _she was so, so cold_-

Ardeth was shouting at her somewhere nearby, but she couldn't see, she couldn't think, could hardly hear him as he fought against his captors to reach her, as if he wanted to grab her wayward soul by the hand to force it back into its not-so-rightful body-

And all of a sudden he had broken free of his restraints and he was at her side, a hand on her face and his back crooked as he bent over her, and there was a great clamour behind it all but it didn't matter since they only had one second left anyway-

"Evelyn," he whispered, "_I'm in love with you._"

The cold had reached her eyes, and just as her lips froze and she felt herself ultimately slipping away, up, up, further till she could barely grasp who she was and much less where her mind was at… a breath escaped her iced throat.

"I think I've changed my mind."

* * *

**a&n: **And - it' s - a - **cliffy**! ...sorry, couldn't resist. If you are there, and if you alerted this story without telling me **precisely** why, then this is your chance! (what's up, Macabea, justagirl8225, terriestal-angell, Saphalina, Hiasobi and KP-X?) Otherwise... I leave it at this cliffhanger** forever.** Mwahaha! Watch out for bewilderingly fast updates, because guess what, it's the holidays for me and I have plenty of time to write this thing! Take care. 


	19. Insouciance

**Insouciance:** something like "carelessness" in french.  
**music:** _Malice Mizer_, _Jehanne Loz  
_**If you're here:** Thank you so very, very much for bearing with me! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter nineteen  
****_Insouciance_  
**

**xxx**

She wasn't moving.

No one could see but Leeu's hands were shaking beyond control, her knuckles almost white under that strained chocolate skin and her fingers slipping on the smooth hieratic engravings on each steely-smooth page. Her voice was echoing around the room, though perhaps only she could hear its imaginary ring since she was suddenly so overcome by all this that everything seemed to have frozen, every single moment leading up to now was knocking against the inside of her skull as if they were all fighting for release- she was confused, so confused, she who had mastered the art of confectioning cages for one's emotions. She had finished the last verse, had read the last line, and now like an actor waiting for her partner to pick up his cue, she waited helplessly by Eve's side.

The red circle still rippling around them, the turbaned heads still bowing rhythmically, the name still being chanted and leaving each clumsy tongue in exact unison… somehow the dark mistress could not rip her eyes away from Eve's sightless pupils. That blank, barren stare… it was worse than being looked in the face by the one you were going to shoot between the eyes two seconds later. It was like contemplating Death as He seduced a soul out of someone's body right before you. And she knew that such a comparison could not be said or meant like how she meant it, because it had happened to no one… only her.

She was standing by the fruit of her labour. Waiting for the lotus bud to bloom. Any time, now… Nefertiri would come… so why was she shaking like this? Wasn't this what she had always dreamt of, ever since she had watched the wounds on her wrists heal up and patted her father's makeshift grave one last time before departing on this crazy journey of vengeance and so-called 'world domination'? Hadn't it seemed exciting… once upon a time?

_Where the hell was all this fucking doubt coming from, anyway?_

Ardeth was kneeling by the sacrificial table, his back hunched and one arm splayed out on the sleek black table top, fingers curled ontop of Eve's belly, his head bowed, and if Leeu held her breath she swore that she could see his shoulders shaking. What was going through his head, she wondered? What kinds of demonic feelings were tearing apart his heart? Was it the same demons as her?

_No… _She winced as the realization hit her. Or rather, she finally accepted the reality of something she'd been too blinded by thoughtless hate to see before. _It's something a thousand times worse than simply losing someone like you did. That much is obvious. _

The waiting felt like drifting in space. There were suddenly no feelings, as the humanized viper slowly shut the book in a single, soft clap, her black gaze never leaving that martyr who was still staring up at her. There was suddenly no sound, as the deep-voiced droning of the acolytes faded into somewhat of a white noise behind her. The body of the woman who had been Evelyn blinked, without consciousness of course- it was a simple necessity. And Leeu squeezed her eyes shut, without thinking either- it was a necessity, too.

One by one the droplets of molten gold that had once ran through Royalty's body in great gushing scarlet torrents were absorbed into the soulless body's chest, seeping through the bone and muscle and tissue till they found that shapeless core that had no fabric or mass. Commanded, guided by this strange sentient element, the little droplets obediently rose to outline the stark tattoo on the body's belly, sinking into the charred skin and gradually setting alight the burned petals and stem of the scorched lotus flower- pretty soon every single fine black line was ablaze with a dazzling golden streak, and the lotus flower seemed to suddenly shine like burnished gold finally cleaned of its accumulated filth. It shone and shone, piercing the flimsy shirt that covered the body's torso with rays of light, and then all of sudden, without warning, a strident burst of muted noise seemed to explode from the air all around them- the acolytes all collapsed, their hands holding their skulls as if to keep the parts together, their chant interrupted by screams of pain- it was more like an unbearable pressure dropping down on all of them, and Leeu let slip a groan of pain, clutching the book to her chest with one hand and the table edge with other to stop herself from passing out- she let her eyes flicker open just to check on Ardeth though she didn't have a freaking clue why she still cared, but he didn't even seem to be affected; he was still kneeling beside the sacrificial table and his hand was clutching Evelyn's- _or what had once been Evelyn's- _that hand that had somehow escaped from its binds during the commotion-

And then Eve's back was arched up to the high Heavens and her face was like a light and her eyes wide open, mouth wide open, mind and heart splayed open for the world to see as the body seemed to absorb something colossal- _something mesmerizing-_ the body let out a strangled noise of resistance though it was wholly futile, and instinctively the hand that Ardeth was holding onto squeezed the life out of the Medji's rough fingers, like a sailor desperately gripping onto the rope that held the anchor in the middle of a tempest, screaming in despair as each thread that made up the rope weathered away-

Her back hit the table with an audible thud, chains on her ankles clinking as she relaxed completely.

Every single pair of eyes that was overshadowed by a crimson balaclava swiveled around to watch in breathless anticipation as that soulless face closed its eyes, though not out of simple reflex. The dark-skinned mistress couldn't contain her curiosity either- this had after all been her goal, and she tried to convince her heart not to shatter her ribcage as she looked upon this white expressionless visage with a hand clutched between her breasts and a lip being gnawed beyond recognition.

Ardeth… well, he could not look up. Obviously. Where would _his_ soul go off to, if he were to set his eyes on this, this body, this vulgar piece of _meat_… and know that the kindred spirit that had once inhabited it had finally been crushed?

It seemed that the entire world fell away from his feet as the hand he was holding onto slowly slid out of his grip. _That was no longer Eve's will, conducting that hand, orchestrating its movements._ His heart literally stopped beating- oh? It had still been beating, all this time, had it?- as he heard the soft slap of the palm against the smooth table top. _That is not Eve feeling the cold of the table against her skin. _The bottom of his stomach plummeted to somewhere lower than the gritty ground he was kneeling on as he caught that almost soundless intake of breath- that woman's first breath in this life. In this world. In this age. _It is not Eve's lips that the air is whispering across…_

The list could've gone on endlessly. Eve's body as it was forced to sit up, and that unbelievable power that it had been imbibed with enabled it to simply shed the tightly bound ropes that scratched the fine skin of its wrist. Eve's eyes as they swept around the room. Eve's ears hearing his rasping breaths, though he wasn't breathing particularly hard- was he?

_But it wasn't Eve herself. _

Not her. Not the woman he'd held to his chest as she closed her eyes and tried to forget her entire life. Not the woman with whom he would share a drink and a hushed conversation in the dead of night when both were struck with insomnia. Not the woman he had only know for twelve whole years, though most of that had been sporadic letters and well-wishing; he had not really been attached to her so much, then. He had not witnessed the evolution that marriage and motherhood seemed to have elevated her into.

She had always intrigued him, before. The woman who traveled alone with godawfully clumsy brother who probably couldn't protect her against the most sober of thugs, and a rather aloof American who she didn't even know properly- all that for the sake of this passion she had for Egypt, for the relics of her ancient life, though at that time she hadn't really understood yet. He would always look at her with a curious eye, wondering, wondering what went on behind that pretty powdered mask of eagerness and vulnerability.

Ardeth wondered for a fleeting moment if her life had played itself out before her eyes in her very last second of real consciousness. The last few seconds where she had still been Evelyn Carnavon- when he had uttered the last words that she would ever hear. What would he have given to see her reaction, he wondered? What? _His mind, his body, his breath, his heart…_

The woman who was stretching herself out comfortably in Eve's body was sitting up, drawing up those lithe legs and watching with impassive eyes as the chains seemed to melt off of those lean ankles and break as she gave her newly acquired feet an elegant little flick. Ardeth would not look back at her over his shoulder as he straightened up, as slowly as his wasted articulations would let him without springing out of his skin. He didn't want to care if he felt her eyes on his back or not as he stepped away from the sacrificial table's side, heading straight for the exit of the chamber though the circle of groaning soldiers was still intact and barring his way. He didn't want to know what happened next- he didn't want to know if this woman was really as passionate and lovely as Eve had described. Besides, her goals weren't exactly admirable. Oh, and he didn't know- he didn't know what to feel, if he should let it all go and collapse and perhaps never get back up, or if he should stubbornly cling to this possibility that Eve's soul hadn't really been crushed, that it hadn't really just evaporated into nothingness, that it would be back …somehow… oh, in the name of Allah, he didn't know, he just wanted out- he wanted to be as far away from her as possible, but at the same time he found that he simply could not deny this shameful _want_ to stay by her side for every single second of this absurd life that they would breath the same air out of, that they would inhale the same poisons out of, just for a small eternity, just… for what? So that he could keep watch of her reactions, to mentally classify each and every thought she had as Evelyn-esque or not?

_Could he really bear to live like that?_

But… to live outside of her presence… outside of this woman's presence, _whoever she was…_

Why did that make him feel as though a gaping black hole was expanding in the centre of his being?

He didn't even feel the large chapped palms slapping around his arms and locking him between the two burly owners. He hadn't even realized that he'd been walking straight out of the chamber completely freely, and that it had been only after Leeu's hissed "what the fuck are you fucking waiting for!?" that the guards had reacted.

So it was with his back to the whole scene and his eyes far away in the distant shadows that infested the corridor stretching out before his feet that he finally heard her voice. Finally heard with his mortal ears that consciousness, illegally present in this age, articulating with stolen (_no; borrowed)_ vocal chords a string of thought that occupied a stolen (_borrowed!_) brain.

"Clothe me appropriately, if you please."

Ardeth didn't realize that he perfectly understood the flawlessly spoken language of ancients; it carried to his ears as clearly and beautifully as though it had been of his native tongue. …Arabic. But nevertheless, something about that intonation, that heavy familiarity with the tongue that one has when it is the only language one knows and thus the only real substantial thing with which one can express oneself, something about it struck him deeply- deeper than he would've thought was possible. It was beyond recognition or gladness or melancholy. Far beyond nostalgia, though sharing the same pathways. Somewhere… he couldn't even coherently describe the feeling.

The only coherence he could feel was the cold of a tear tracing its way down his gaunt cheek before tangling into his beard, shining in the darkness like scattered moon dust.

Then he found that he was turning, because he suddenly wanted to see her- now that he had heard her, he wanted to see what she looked like, even though he knew that face better than he knew his own- he struggled lightly against the two guards' strong grips, cracking the bones in his nape as he strained himself to look over his shoulder at her.

The abundant torchlight licked sensuously at the creamy length of her naked back, as she stood there on Leeu's side of the sacrificial table, lean shoulders stroked by hanging curls of Eve's chocolate hair, grazed elbows down by a slender, shadowed waist. She stood as immobile as the stone statues that depicted her as one lucky acolyte got to unclothe her- wait, whose thought was that!?- and she didn't even flinch when his dirty fingers brushed against her perfect ivory skin as he removed her shredded shirt, and then her borrowed maroon trousers. Leeu stood in front of her, side-on with a thoughtful look on her face. She had a glittering bundle of airy fabric in her arms, replacing the book, and she stepped forward to slip the garment onto Eve's body- _he just couldn't bring himself to call her otherwise- _the whisper of the ghostly fabric being the only audible sound in the chamber, asides from the soft crackle of the flickering torchlight.

Eve's body, apparently content with this modest piece of light brocade, sighed.

As if suddenly aware of the situation, Leeu stumbled onto one knee before the risen Queen, bowing her head and planting her fists on the ground so nobody would see her shaking.

"We- we welcome you unto our humble age, your Majesty," she stammered brokenly in ancient Egyptian, sounding like a fumbling child with stage fright. "I am Leeu, and these are my men." A gesture to introduce the gaping entirety of the red-clad circle. "We have dared to disturb you from your sleep in order to allow you to fulfill your wishes and desires that you could not satiate in your own time and age, hoping that our service and methods could satisfy you and-"

Eve's body was laughing- only an airy chuckle, but Leeu's declaration was cut short by her sharp intake of breath. Ardeth's eyes seemed glazed over as he watched the martyr raise her undead hand and thread those lithe fingers through Leeu's ebony tresses. He almost scoffed when the oh so terrible mistress barely suppressed the urge to flinch violently away from the unwanted contact.

"Clearly that pretty mouth wasn't confectioned to carry out long elaborate speeches," Eve's pale lips uttered, and Ardeth found that it was getting increasingly difficult to continue fooling himself that this was not entirely the Queen, that something English had still endured, in some impossible way-

"You don't have to try and paint demands with glittering formalities and such. I didn't ask to be reincarnated simply for the pleasure of standing around looking at beautiful faces and listening to beautiful speeches. Speak. What is it that you want?"

Leeu was struck dumb. Here she knelt, with ancient Royalty's hand on her head and a clear ringing voice that was thousands of years old ringing in her ears. She felt curiously numb- as if letting the emotions run loose was simply too dangerous, and that some kind of metaphysical dam was holding it all back for the time being. Swallowing to give life to her parched throat, she tried to lift her gaze higher than the Queen's grubby toes- she managed to come to those lean ankles that were veiled by the translucent dress- and answered the Queen's demand.

"I- we-" Her mind screamed savagely at her, disgusted by her pathetic shyness before these particular feet. She took a deep breath. "The legend has carried through the ages, that a disgraced Queen was never accorded her rightful vengeance, and that to grant this Queen her wishes would be to have in one's hands the possibility of being the right hand of the world's possible dominator. You have been granted powers, my lady, powers beyond any of our imaginations combined. We-"

"_You_, sweet child, wanted to use of these powers that the gods bestowed upon me, you wanted to use me to gain power over this world that you know next to nothing about, save what has affected your own life." Nefertiri laughed again, a soft, tantalizing sound. She swung out her arms and threw back her head, her hair cascading down her back in straggly strands not at all fit for a Queen such as her, her eyes sparkling with borrowed life and seemingly reveling in it. She twirled around herself slowly, like a doll in a music box, trailing her fingers on the sacrificial table behind her, and then tucking her chin back in and taking a few steps forward, walking straight past Leeu's huddling form.

"It's quite a plan, I see. And it's quite a legend, too." Nefertiri was still laughing, though the sound had a wretched aftertaste- as though she was mocking them, keeping to herself a knowledge that she alone was familiar with. Strangely moved, but still on his guard and feeling nothing but incredulity and admiration of this being's otherworldly grace, Ardeth tried to seek out this knowledge that he knew was buried somewhere in his mind, somewhere just out of reach like everything else that seemed to revolve around this absurd affair.

There was a languorous hiss of metal as Nefertiri slid one of the kneeling guards' swords from its sheath. She twirled the sleek tongue of metal in the air for a little while, letting her fingers play over its cool surface and listening as if enthralled to the silvery whisper that stained the air wherever the blade was swung.

"Power, power. It seems to be all that you humans ever love, all that you think is worth living for. What would I be, if this legend had not included the option of worldwide domination? Would I still be a captive soul in the scorched abyss of Seth's domain, if such had not been said about me? What if the versions- reality and legend- differ, hm? What then?"

The Queens singsong voice seemed to paint on Leeu's face an expression of confusion speckled with horror- as if she was starting to doubt things, as if she was suddenly having second thoughts about this irrevocable act she'd just committed. Ardeth found himself sympathizing with her as he reminded himself of the gravity of what she'd done- he'd been aware of it, but had she really known what she'd been doing, all along?

"What- what do you mean, Majesty?"

"I am curious about this legend, girl. Why don't you enlighten me?" Nefertiri sang over her shoulder, stepped over the circle of acolytes in a graceful little leap, and advancing to the rear of the chamber to where the light only just reached.

"Well…" The black viper was just getting more baffled by the minute, the situation seemingly flying out of her hands. Whipping up her head and following the Queen's light progression, those slender legs dancing to and fro with an elegant lope that no mere human could imitate, she realized that if she ever called to her acolytes to restrain the Queen, to give the beautiful entity something as vulgar and unbecoming as _orders_… this woman couldn't be controlled. Now Leeu was seriously wondering whether the thing she had brought back from the unknown, what she guessed could be called 'Seth's domain', could even be _trusted_.  
She was starting to have a very, very bad feeling about this, and perhaps she should've really thought about this part sooner. Who knew? Perhaps she was already too late.

With this in mind, she bit out that stupid legend that she realized she had never really believed, getting to her feet and turning around to stare at the Queen's exquisite back, visible beneath that shimmering veil of fabric.

"It's about your revenge against the families of those who disregarded the holy laws, and whom you deemed worthy of extravagant deaths. The legend states that you begged to be reincarnated in order to kill with your own hands the woman who had taken her own life, and therefore stealing from you the vengeance that you sought. We- we found the book that was buried in your chambers, written by a priest that is said to have had received the God's inspiration, and we know how to make all of this possible. Your soul's reincarnation has already taken place, as you can see. We know of the secret spells that will enable you to fight that woman- Anckesenamun-"

"Anck-su-namun, please."

Leeu paused, her face deceptively blank. "Yes. We know how to bring her back to life, though we don't have the body or the organs."

"Oh?" Nefertiri was tracing the hieroglyphics on the wall with the tip of the sword, making an abominable screeching sound with each steely caress. "And how, pray tell, would you proceed?" She seemed only mildly interested- as if she already knew that it was all worthless hokum.

"We would bring back her soul, and you would both wage an intangible but deadly battle." Leeu seemed to cough up the words, ridiculous as they seemed.

"How fascinating." The ancient Queen was still dancing by the wall, drawing abstract shapes with the tip of the blade on the wall's gritty surface, and she twirled around before gliding forwards and slipping down to snake an arm around a random acolyte's chest and press his back against her chest, lowering her head so that that malicious smile was just by his ear.

"I didn't know one could end a life… without shedding blood."

The blade was hovering by the acolyte's trembling hands, that he had plopped on his lap, and he gulped audibly as she slowly lifted its glittering tip to his throat, the fingers of her free hand against his hollow, just-shaven cheek.

"You should revise your history, girl. No soul has ever been brought back and been able to prowl this living Earth without a body to carry it. It is simply, physically impossible. I suppose that this is the part of the God's farce that they took the most joy in inventing- they must be laughing now, and they must've laughed then, when they saw the faces of all those who believed in what they knew could not be realized. Besides, it is not really one's soul that we sacrifice to the Gods- blood has always had its importance."

Something in Ardeth's mind quirked as he saw that blade tip press against the acolyte's throat, lightly at first… he was shaking his head, trying to suppress this feeling of wrongness, this uncomfortable feeling of deja-vu ; here, in the doorway of the chamber, watching his beloved with a weapon in her hand and a dark crimson spark in her eye…

He bit back the name that he was about to blurt out- and then watched in horror as the blade tip plunged, was dragged across the acolyte's throat, and the spray of blood that spurted from the horrendously wide gash brought instant panic to the rest of the acolytes' minds, and they were all suddenly scrambling around as if they were going to file out of the room on their hands and knees like little children. Only Leeu's bellowed "CUT IT OUT!" made them all freeze in their tracks, and they all shut up in order to listen to Nefertiri's mocking laugh as she rose from the bleeding corpse that lay sprawled in its steadily growing pool of blood. The Queen reached out to Leeu with her blood-stained fingers, the smile on her face not quite matching her melancholic eyes- Ardeth started at the queer expression, unable to discern what was going on the Queen's seemingly deranged mind.

"Blood has always been underestimated, my darling. I have always abused of shedding it, simply because once you have tasted the pleasure of draining blood from one's body, it's quite difficult to refrain from doing so again and again. It becomes an addiction that I'm sure you are quite familiar with." Leeu, of course, could do nothing but stammer and hyperventilate. "I don't know what it is in the act of committing murder that's quite so thrilling. Perhaps it is knowing that you're going against the natural flow of things- of life- and disrupting what the Gods had carefully planned for someone's existence that brings about the childish excitement of going against the rules. Or perhaps… it is the simple sensation of the warmth gushing on your fingers, leaving the body that you've chosen to slay… I don't know. But, like any addiction, one eventually sheds it if its pleasures are confiscated from them."

Nefertiri's eyes sought out Leeu's and they remained locked for a long, long while.

"I am sick of shedding it, my darling. Sick of slaying the innocent, sick of having stained fingers. Sick of feeding Ammut's great belly for …petty personal problems."

Ardeth did not know the reason for his smile, didn't _want_ to know what feeling that phrase struck up in him.

"And if you think, if you really believe that I'd _sink_ to that level of disgrace once again and help you gain world domination- which is, I suppose, only accessible by means of violence and war, as conquests have always been- by slaying countless victims just for your selfish desires, then I don't know what kind of degraded being you thought I was… but I'm afraid you have had a very different image of me, my sweet."

There was a poisonous smile on those dry lips, and Leeu… she could not draw breath.

There was a beat of absolute silence, before shouts were heard from outside the temple- there was the hum of something huge, and yelled Arabic curses over gunfire as intruders landed upon their dig site.

Nefertiri's head whipped around- and Ardeth didn't have time to avert his gaze. She caught his face in those obsidian irises, reflected the horrified expression that marred his once handsome face, laced a string of fire between their gazes that neither could resist, and then amongst the sudden uproar of metallic screeches and shouted orders and the scuffling of the acolytes trying to get back to their feet and rush to their companions' aid, he managed to hear those two words that dropped from her lips.

"_Together. Now._"

Then as he mindlessly thrust his elbow into one of his captor's flabby stomachs and flung out his other arm to catch the other brawny man's sword where it hung in the leather belt, he managed to hear Leeu's shrill cry for order and Nefertiri's blade zinging and making the air come alive with shrieks of metal as she engaged in combat with several of the agitated guards- in his peripheral vision, Ardeth watched in voiceless awe as she spun around herself at a surreal speed, planting her blade in one man's chest before yanking it to the right, so that it carved a gory line across the man's chest, emerging from his armpit in a bloody mess and coming into contact with the following man's shoulder, slicing through that, continuing on its journey through the man's pectoral area- all this at a jaw dropping speed, blood tainting the very air crimson like a shroud. This was no longer Evelyn- that was a certainty, now, Ardeth thought as he tugged the sword from the confused man's belt and sliced open the other one's throat with a savage cry of battle ripping instinctively from his cracked lips- he moved with the elegance of a warrior who, after waging countless wars, could easily locate himself and his enemies and knew exactly where to strike and when to fall back, so that in the midst of all the commotion the two animalistic allies fought against the red current of acolytes trying to leave the room, taking them by surprise, tearing them down, stepping on the carcasses when there wasn't enough room to dodge a flying attack or lunge at the next opponent.

Ardeth hadn't even had the time to recollect his thoughts- he only knew that violence had been required, and so he'd slipped into that mechanical state of mind that the Medji had taught him. Clutching a sword that was not his, dripping with blood that was equally not his, and standing there like a ghost with no colour in his cheeks and piles of twisted corpses at his feet… he faltered, tripping over a still twitching hand somewhere on the floor and stumbling forwards. It seemed that there were no survivors left. The threat… the threat was over… _what… threat…?_

Out of nowhere the scars on his back suddenly seared to life, and his knees buckled as the sheer weight of everything he'd gone through seemed to crash down on him- he fell to his knees, his sword clattering onto a patch of floor that remained clear of any corpses, his eyes closing, his throat constricting. He was aware of the horrid feeling of his own stomach digesting itself with hunger- he was aware of the whip marks on his back being cracked open again by his careless movements- he was aware of his throat burning after that wretched cry of battle that he had uttered for Allah-knows-what reason- he was aware of the bloody corpses strewn around him… the only thing he was not aware of was with whom he was sharing the death-stinking room.

It took an ungodly effort for him to feel the hand on his nape, to smell that musky scent and to hear the gentle flutter of an expensive dress as Nefertiri knelt by his side, sneaking a slender arm around his shoulders.

"Get up, my love," she urged softly. He didn't open his eyes, nor his mouth, for fear that everything would come spilling out- it was like something huge was suffocating his heart, and he could hardly bear it any more-

"Help me." Her voice reminded him of the resemblance between a smoothed layer of red silk and an undisturbed pool of blood. Deadly… yet so beautiful… deceitfully so… _but oh, he was so tired…_

"Get up. You need to stay alive."

No survivors… there were… there was… _not one left alive…_

"What-" he choked out, "What… did you kill Leeu?"

He was speaking English, and he wasn't making any sense- to himself, because he had never cared in the slightest about Leeu, and to her, because she simply was no longer familiar with that funny, modern language.

"Leeu…?" It was the one word she'd managed to recognize. "She escaped. I don't know how. She's outside helping her acolytes to get rid of the people who have come to wage war."

"The people who…" Unconsciously Ardeth was shrugging her arm off and slumping against her at the same time, the pains in his torso and the numbness of his wasted legs finally kicking in- though now was definitely not the time. Realization whipped up out of nowhere and kicked him hard in the teeth.

_Rick. Jonathan. Izzy._

His first thought was…

_They've come to take her from me. _

Erasing that from his mind as quickly as it came, he tried to think as he would have before any of this had happened- back when he still had a sane mind.  
"We…" What were they going to do? What _could_ they do?

"We must get out of here. Get up, my love, get up." Her voice was getting more urgent by the minute, and it was her desperation that triggered that heavenly torrent of adrenaline that suddenly burst through his veins, electrifying him to the very core. He heaved himself to his feet, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she followed him up. She turned away from him sharply as soon as they were both standing in the room, the only living souls in the stench-filled room; it was like she didn't want him to see her face, whatever expression inhabited it. He was fine with that, though- the feeling was mutual.

"Come," she called over her shoulder, breaking into a jog and hurrying out of the chamber. She bent to the right to snatch up a sword from a bloody hand that jutted comically upwards from the carpet of corpses- well, not really comically- her stride not faltering in the slightest as she did so, and turned her head a fraction to see Ardeth in the shadows behind her in her peripheral vision.

She held out her hand, still speeding down the corridor.

There was no room for sanity or moral thoughts. There was just this exquisite woman in front of him and this sword in his hand and this blood on his face and this pain in every parcel of his body- and hell, if they were going to make it out of here alive, it certainly wasn't by acting nobly and whatnot. So Ardeth reached out and gripped the devil's hand, and their strides ascended to a sprint, carrying them out of the temple and into the broad daylight, hurting their eyes and making their bloody attire almost grotesque without the shadows to cloak their hideously starved and splattered bodies.

There was Izzy's infamous dirigible way away at the mouth of the camp, and the entire place was crawling with movement- the slaves were gathering up their spades, instructed by angry red-clad soldiers, and acolytes were racing down the streets of the makeshift camp. From their view of things, there on the doorstep of Nefertiri's temple, they could guess that there were at least… fifty or so slaves. There was more than a hundred guards, though.

A hundred guards. And Leeu. …Against Rick, Jonathan (Ardeth scoffed), Izzy… and whatever aid they had brought with them, if any; and Ardeth seriously hoped that they had brought someone or other; otherwise they really were too late to help their old friends.

… '_their'?_

"Who is that?" Nefertiri asked, a hand on her forehead to shield those obscure eyes from the scorching sun, slowing to a stop on the doorstep to be able to observe things from a higher spot. Ardeth looked over at her, and sensing this she took a few steps forward so that he could only see her back. Their clammy hands stuck together with sweat and blood- though it didn't seem to bother either of them. On the contrary, Ardeth stumbled forward a little when she went too far, refusing to let go of her.

"Evelyn's American husband and her brother. I'm not sure if they've brought help or not though, so if-"

"There's a third person," Nefertiri interrupted, still walking forwards so that now Ardeth couldn't help dogging her step. The guards were too busy fighting against whatever crazy force the two crazy men had brought along with them- they hadn't noticed them just yet, as blatant as they were, on the temple's doorstep in the bright sunlight.

"Yes, that must be Izzy-"

"No, it's a woman." Nefertiri seemed to concentrate on what she was seeing, squinting in the harsh daylight as she interrupted him again. "She's a very skilled swordswoman, it seems… ah, and there are the ones that don't have the red uniform… I see. Three of them. A hundred and fifty enemies." She suddenly gave a strident laugh, as though all of this terribly amused her. "That's an awfully fair fight. Do you think we should help them?"

"What kind of question is that?" Ardeth protested weakly, feeling the adrenaline burning through his veins and itching to move faster than this pathetic amble. "They're your family…"

He swallowed his words._ No._ _Not any more_. His mind that had been wrung of its sanity and coherence weeks ago now tried to formulate some kind of thought that made his heart plummet even lower than where it currently lay, on its bloody side like a pitiful abandoned domestic animal- was there really that possibility, did it really _exist_, that this woman whose sticky palm was pressed gruesomely against his own and whose dark, obsidian eyes were scanning the horizon, as if looking for some gap in the tents, some gap in the bumbling army of red-clad acolytes through which they could escape…

Was there the possibility that she would want to run without even stopping to think about the fate of those she so dearly cherished, in another lifetime? (_so, so near… yet shattered into tiny, indefinable pieces, now, it seemed)_

And, somehow, the dry wind whispered its sandy, rasping whisper into his ear, dislodging stiff strands of his blood stained hair, dragging salty moisture from his eyes before he let his eyelids drop…

_Yes, she would. _

_This woman you're holding onto… she would gladly slip those slender legs over a horse's black and leave them all to their fates, their battles that do not concern her. _

_This woman you're holding onto… she will never again yearn to taste the nectar of her husband's lips. She will never again hold up her son and laugh with love in her now-obscure eyes. She will never again belong to this world… never belong to this age…_

His fingers tightened around her crusty palm as his resolve suddenly tightened like a steel fist around some squirmy thing in his chest.

_She will never belong to anything, save you, now. _

He didn't know what to think of that thought; he did not even discard it as soon as it penetrated the crumbly walls of his mind, and he actually pondered it for a little while…

Until the warmth of Nefertiri's palm slipped from his hand, their contact breaking and sending little flakes of dried blood spinning in the desert wind, like a turbulent crimson snow. He looked up again at her elegant back, stopping in his tracks- they had left the temple entrance a few feet behind them, and now they were walking down the slope that led to the camp where gunshots and shrieks of dying men and spurts of blood seemed to merge into one horrific battle scene that one would see in pretty paintings from ages past.

"I wonder… to what extent does the gods' mockery go?"

The murmur issued from Nefertiri's lips as softly as the scamper of a desert rat across silent dunes, a sweet interlude to the pandemonium that followed.

She closed her eyes, lifted her arms, her wrists pointing up at the clear skies, papery white skin letting pastel green veins show; such fragility, such grace in her movements… Ardeth found himself enrapt, completely oblivious to the queer movements the sand seemed to make amongst the tents before them.

But then banshees of sand and wind seemed to be dragging themselves up from the gritty ground, and like sentient sand devils they advanced on the red-clad men that were running frantically down the makeshift alleys between the tents- the sandy creatures almost had human shape, but they were at least 10 foot tall, and they were naught but little sandstorms of their own; they were silent, and they sneaked up on their prey like giant predators, engulfing the poor ignorant men in their sand-blown bowels and choking the men's throats and lungs with sand, leaving for another victim when the men crumpled to the ground, all of them in the same awful position; their mouths wide open and their hands grasping their necks as if in an attempt to stop the flood of sand from reaching their precious lungs.

Ardeth was just about as sickeningly fascinated by this as the conjurer of the elemental creatures herself. The couple watched as this army of conjured sand creatures _devoured_ the petrified groups of Leeu's acolytes, who hardly had the time to turn around and face their death before they were swept into a loveless, asphyxiating embrace; they were _dilapidated_, falling like blood-red rats in the streets of their camp, tumbling into the sides of their tents with strangled screams and bringing down the battlements as they desperately tried to protect themselves with what they could. Rick and company could only just be seen in the central 'square' of the camp; it was a little circular spot of space surrounded by tents where Leeu had had all her meetings with her captains; they were just as bewildered as their foes, but they were nevertheless continuing on their fight, turning and shooting and rolling and whipping around to crack an elbow in the face of a would-be attacker… it was captivating. It was _fascinating_.

But Ardeth couldn't… couldn't bear seeing all this death. He didn't know why. He just wanted his beloved to stop this- stop this ruthless slaughtering, even though it all possessed some kind of grace, some kind of beauty, some kind of purity, in some impossible way… it corresponded to her nature quite nicely, he thought, as he reached out for her, sliding his palms over her shoulders, down her arms, to then catch her wrists and pull her possessively against his chest, blowing at her scraggly hair so that he could poise his lips just behind her ear.

His actions seemed to surprise her; though she did not break eye contact with the scene, so as to keep her creatures from collapsing into dull heaps of soulless sand again. But she turned her head ever so slightly to the left, acknowledging him, questioning him without words. Open to his reasoning. She'd listen. Maybe she'd answer him truthfully.

"What do you plan to do?"

He saw her cheek hitching up ever so slightly, indicating that she was smiling. The distant yells and mute blows of sand assassins seemed eons away, _worlds_ away, with this woman who seemed to be the last thing that he was still holding onto, after all this time; knowing that he had her attention, that she wouldn't pull away from him… what could he do, save feel some kind of crooked affection for this singularly _perfect_ moment…?

Oh, yes. His mind was definitely lost.

"I plan to go wherever you plan to take me."

Her answer unleashed that unexplainable desire that was poisoning his mind, that he hadn't dared unlock for the simple reason that it was everything _but_ what he had ever understood as 'good' or following the principles he'd grown up with.

But now he was tired, tired of playing the guy who knew exactly what to do, who knew the difference between right and wrong and never let one toe linger out of line. He found that he no longer cared if he was damning one of his best friends, that he was simply dismissing the thought of Evelyn's family as if they didn't matter… after all, what with the conjured creatures' help, they were more than safe. Their lives weren't on any line, any longer. He didn't care, he didn't care… so maybe he'd once loved an American man, ruffled fondly the hair of the said man's son, so maybe he'd once vowed to never let love distract him from the crucial goals and morals in his warrior's life… maybe. Once. _Before_.

But, if he went down that road… he'd find that this woman he was holding to himself could say the exact same things. She had once loved an American man, held to her chest the son that she'd had with the said man, she had once had morals and goals of her own… So they were together in their ordeal, together in the maelstrom.  
Together in their sin.

"_Come away with me._"

Somehow, thinking about it that way… it seemed a little less painful. A little less impossible.

Nefertiri's body didn't tense, as he'd expected it to. Her back pummeled gently and warmly against his chest as she swayed slightly in her concentration, and he could sense a strange calmness, a serenity about her that had surely affected the way his decision had come floating to him on painless wings as it had.

"Maybe…" A smile tinted her voice with a soft, foggy quality, "Where would you take me?"

She sounded almost playful, as if they were both kids planning on some adventure that in their minds was great, but in reality wasn't such a big deal- a feasible distance, full of feasible obstacles. But then reality is no fun. Ardeth realized that this was all strangely, familiar, in some way… _come away, come away with me… come away from the palace chambers, come to the wilderness that they call the city that surrounds your pretty, glittering island…_ how did it go, again?

"I'll take you to that neighboring world that you so yearn to see…"

The words left his lips with an intonation that certainly wasn't his, and it was then that he felt Nefertiri's back go rigid against his chest.

"There'll be no one to stop us?"

He closed his eyes. It was easy. Too easy to remember.

"I'll protect you."

It was too easy to feel this soapy bubble of excitement expanding in his chest- it wasn't his intonation, wasn't his excitement, it wasn't his memory. But he'd never let Tia show through, never even once, and seeing as this was the first time… he very nearly gave in to the slight swoon that seemed to take hold of his senses for a few seconds, the light-headedness that frightened him with its unfamiliarity.

There was one more thing he wasn't sure about.

_This… this tantalizing desire to spin her around… and claim her lips…and taste her delectable essence once again…_

But then she'd turned around, and she'd stepped back, and the desert wind was blowing a straw strand of hair across her face, sticking to the lips she'd just moistened with a flick of that pointed tongue. She was staring straight at him with black glass eyes, and a smile pushed up her cheeks in the most defying and anticipant expression he'd ever seen on this face he knew so well.

"Then let's go."

The words had hardly left her lips that she grabbed his hand and whirled around and ran- ran towards that wide fluttering tent on the outskirts of the camp where the acolyte's horses and camels were lodged. But he'd pushed away his bewilderment and desperately tried to grip onto this feeling, because it was perfection, he was sure of it- he held onto her hand as tightly as he could without hurting her, and he sped up to match her step, using the adrenaline and knowing that he'd probably be completely dead later but he didn't care- they were racing across the streets, side by side, joint hands stable between their bodies while their free hands flew out to steady them- they looked like teenagers on a wild fugue, and neither stopped to react to the shouted "EVE!" that they heard above the commotion of swords and gunfire. There couldn't be a dozen acolytes left fighting, and several slaves were spiriting down the streets with their hands on their heads and their mouths opened in frightening screams, though the sand creatures had collapsed since Nefertiri's eyes had relinquished their hold on them.

Ardeth knew that Evelyn's family had come to rescue them both. He knew. He knew they'd risked their lives, that they were here for love for him and Evelyn… it was all good intentions.

But, when he had last checked, he'd found that he was no longer doing anything that could be classified as 'good'.

_And besides, I want to find out the truths… there's so much to discover… I can't let Rick catch us up, and end this all in one ignorant gesture! _

He didn't have anything to lose… Leeu had taken care of stripping him bare of anything he'd ever held dear- pride, dignity, hell, _virility_, even. So as the couple reached the horses, he forced himself not to turn around when he heard Rick's heavy footsteps hurrying down the alleyway, several feet behind them.

Nefertiri had picked a sleek black mare, and her nimble fingers slipped around one of the gold hoops that held together the leather head collar that hung on the beautiful animal's head. She picked up the rope that was attached to the head collar, swung it around the mare's powerful neck, distractedly letting her fingers get tangled into the thick mane that covered one side of it.

Rick was nearing. His torso was twisted around as he shot someone behind him, so he couldn't see the two now-freed captives as they fumbled around the snorting mare's flanks; Ardeth grasped a tuft of the animal's dark mane , heaved himself onto her creaking leather saddle with a grunt and slid back a little to give Nefertiri space in front of him, casting a hurried glance to the American gunslinger who was sprinting ever nearer. His heart was in his throat, and his reason was starting to sift from his mind as he set eyes on his dear friend after so long- he looked down, offering a hand to Nefertiri, urging her to hurry, privately holding onto his feeling of perfection as he felt its brightness fade little by little.

But the reincarnated queen was transfixed.  
She stood by the mare's shining flank, her eyes on the husband of the woman whose body she'd stolen (borrowed).

"EVE!" Rick yelled as he turned his torso around at a more natural angle, and in just a few huge strides of those beige-breeched legs, he was dragging his feet to a hesitant halt at two or three feet from the mare's swishing tail.

A look of utter confusion was on his rough face. He looked for a long, long time at this woman who had been his wife- looked at those black eyes for what seemed like an eternity… He stumbled forwards, dangerously close to the mare's imposing backside.

"E…Eve…?"

He couldn't… bring himself to understand. He couldn't _accept_… that those glassy eyes didn't quite look like the ones who'd widened and sparkled with mirth when he'd pronounced those two simple syllables… "_I do_"… they didn't quite look like the ones who'd greet him in a sleepy haze of adoration, every waking morning… The way her mouth was set wasn't familiar to him, either- he who'd scrutinized every single tiny detail of his wife's expressions, every detail of her beautiful body- he didn't recognize her face. He didn't.

_Why, Gods damn it, why? Why doesn't she look the same!?_

He held out his hand, his fingers reaching. The woman who looked so similar _but not quite enough_ to his wife stared blankly at the tips of his outstretched digits, at the glint of gold on his fourth finger. To her the ring meant nothing- quite radically, she who was so used to being decked in gold, she actually had this fleeting thought that the poor man didn't really have much fashion sense, if he only bothered to put on a single simple band of gold on one finger. But she didn't need material proof of the feeling she saw in those chocolate eyes; it made her ache, to see a man she didn't know look at her like that, reach out to her with such a feeling behind his motions.

She didn't like not knowing him. She didn't like not being the one all this love and adoration was for. She didn't… she didn't like it that she was gluttonously drinking up that love she could see in his hopeful face.

She turned around, facing the mare's flank, reaching up with one hand-

Rick's eyes flickered from her to Ardeth's bent form, to the hand that the nomad had offered to the woman who was supposed to be his wife.

His heart seemed to leap, perform a magnificent somersault, and dive down into the depths of the black pool he could feel flooding his senses, flooding his mind… seeping out from his tear-ducts. But he didn't understand- _couldn't_ understand.

Gladys' words came back to his mind agonizingly slowly. Hadn't she said something about Evelyn's soul…?

-Nefertiri's hand landed on the Arab rider's thigh.

Rick's Adam's apple seemed to bounce so high in his throat, it threatened to pop right out the top of his skull.

The reincarnated queen reached up with her other hand, curling her fingers around Ardeth's outstretched hand and pulled herself up in one soundless flutter of expensive fabric.

_No. _

Rick's mind was shouting, screaming-

_No no no no. _

But his face was a blank façade. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel.

_What… what is she doing?_

_What the hell is she doing?_

"Eve…"

The name sounded almost alien in his ears, and he looked on with wide, unbelieving eyes as Ardeth reach around the woman's waist to grab hold of the rope, clucking his tongue at the mare to make her step heavily backwards, hooves cleaving through the sand and burying Rick's booted feet with the disturbed mounds of golden powder.

What did it mean? Why- ? What, in _Christ's_ name, was his best friend doing on a horse with his arms around his fucking _wife_?  
He would've been angry… in some other age. In some other situation. When this all wasn't so real, so heartbreakingly _right in his face_- and everything was done so simply. The way the woman sitting atop the black mare looked down at him as they passed him, standing there like an idiot with his boots planted in sand- she tossed back her head to get the hair out of her eyes, so as to get a better view of him. The way Ardeth effortlessly guided the beautiful animal onward, his tattooed hands moving over the rope with an unmatched skill and lightness.

The mare walked by him.

The fucking animal went straight _past_ him. So that the couple's feet knocked against his chest; not willingly, perhaps, but still; it took all of his willpower- every single _shred_ of it- to keep him upright, to not let that whisper of contact make him topple backwards into the sand.

Nefertiri looked almost sorry as her black eyes bore down on him. And, Ardeth… the American really didn't know what to expect. He didn't know if he was even dreaming or not.

Ardeth… he reached down as they passed him, laid a hand on the American's shoulder.

"_I must_."

…Of all the things to say, Rick seriously didn't know what to think of that… he didn't know if he hated the nomad more than the world, or if this abhorrent feeling of sinking in his chest was something other than profound jealousy- he didn't know how to _recognize_ jealousy, for crying out loud, since his darling Evelyn had never ever given him one chance to experience it… even though there was the possibility that that woman riding away against his best friend's chest wasn't really the Evelyn that he'd held to his chest so many nights, the one he'd whispered so many lame but lovely things to… the one he'd unwrapped from the dainty white wedding dress on their nuptial night as if she'd been some sweet piece of candy… the one he'd made love to on countless nights, the only one who'd glowed so beautifully in the aftermath of it all, there curled up in a ball beside him with the covers snatched up against her bare body… he could still see it.

_There… there… sitting there with that man-_

His heart swelled beyond physical measure.

They had gone past him. He could hear the mare speeding to a gallop, heading for the wide desert beyond- and he didn't even find the strength to turn around, heave his lead feet around in the sand and try to decipher their retreating form beyond the cloudy veil of tears that was scorching his eyes.

And suddenly there was a terrible choking in his chest, and it was like everything that he had ever bottled up inside him was pressing against his insides, choking him, choking him- he couldn't find the strength to draw breath- and maybe that's why he was silent as he let himself fall to his knees. Maybe that's why he didn't scream out to any gods who would listen for them to give him back the soul of his wife- his dearly beloved- why had they snatched her from him? What had she ever done wrong? Her and her laughing eyes, her clumsy ways, her adorable naiveté… _her love, her love…_

It wasn't mere jealousy. It wasn't the mere feeling of losing someone so cherished.

_It was like… losing your mind. Losing the only part of yourself that you'd ever really cared for. _

_Losing the only woman who'd ever touched you so deeply… losing that one kindred soul with whom you'd shared everything, _everything.

He didn't care to hear the rest of his small family running up to him, calling him, telling him that they had been aided by something supernatural… that the way was clear, that they could start searching for Evelyn… who?

_Losing the torch that lit your way. Losing the sense of everything that surrounds you- the blue skies, the burning sand, the howling wind. Losing it all, losing it, irrevocably, sinking, deeper, deeper-_

Before he could acknowledge anything other than the emptiness that weighed on his entire being, his forehead had tipped forward, had touched the ground.

And he was weeping.

* * *

**a&n:** Okay... sorry for the wait. I hope you guys are still out there! Dedicated to Spacey, who's so damn nice. Oh, except the gory parts- those go to the master of all eye-gouging-ness that exists on this earth. I know, it's a little bit of a rushed chapter, but I'm trying to keep a semblance of an audience, so tell me if you're still there! Unless you want the next update to come in an even longer while... ah, I'll still finish this story, I promise. Love to all my reviewers! It's my fault if I can't keep you hooked, what with my extravagant intermezzos. Take care! 


	20. Stairway

**a&n:** CHRISTMAS SPECIAL, my sweeties! I know, 8 thousand words only, but heck! I had to give you all sap/angst for christmas. BWAHAHA. Please don't mind the rushed-ness or the way this entire chapter seems to scream **plot-cork!!** and just have a gorgeous holiday! Enjoy this if you can- it's dedicated to the lovely Spacey, and also to the lovely PrincessAnck, and also to the lovely, lovely Estora. You guys still rock! And I'm still sticking around writing this thing for you! Have a good one!  
**by the way:** I'm leaving on the 26th, and I'll be back in January sometime, so sorry if I can't reply to those who'd leave reviews.

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* * *

**

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter twenty  
****_Stairway_  
**

**xxx**

"EVE!"

The sound of the American's voice reverberated in the entire campsite, empty as it was- or full, full of sand-stuffed corpses, however you wanted to put it- and Gladys watched on with her one good eye as he leapt down the street, running, running for where the horses were kept.

The remaining number of what had once been Leeu's terrifying force of red-clad soldiers and slaves were completely scattered, running here and there, most of them trying to get to the horses- those who passed by the central square where Gladys and Jonathan currently stood either lost a few limbs thanks to her swift blade or were perforated by Jonathan's trusty pea-shooter- or whatever that ridiculously small gun was. It killed people, didn't it? So what more to ask? It wasn't his fault if the poor British chap hadn't been able to find any shop in London that sold bazookas or Kalashnikovs, was it now?

But, enough of those distractions. Gladys was tired of slaughtering men that she thought nothing of- men that meant nothing, lives that she did not care to either end or have mercy on.

She had nothing to worry about; she didn't have enough fingers on her hands added to the toes on her feet to count the number of times she'd saved that clumsy Britton from getting a few of his precious members lopped off, but now that there were considerably less enemies to watch out for, most of them being on the run anyway, he could easily handle himself. Rick, well, she hadn't even felt irritated for her lack of vision on one side because she hadn't needed to keep an eye on him at all, and since her other eye had been completely focused on Jonathan, things had been rather simple to handle.

There was no one left to watch out for. She stood hunched in a battle pose, there in the middle of the central square of the campsite, her one good eye scanning the streets that cut paths between the tents all around. She'd come here for a reason, after all- and now that she no longer bore any burdens; not the worry for her companions' lives nor for her daughter who was being taken care of up in the dirigible at one or two yards from the campsite itself. She'd come here seeking one person, one woman, whom she had served in years past.

The one person she despised the most. The person… the person… the human _being_… who she'd watched torturing her companions-in-arms, torturing them for answers.  
She could still hear her husband's strangled cries as that despicable woman tore skin and veins from his arms, whispered in his ear whilst pressed up against him, drinking up his pain as though it was the sweetest of liquors- she'd been forced to watch, forced to endure it all as Leeu, unable to draw out the answers she sought from the honourable man, tore through his dignity, recklessly ripping apart his flesh, laughing in unison with his screams, the bare soles of her feet squelching in the pools of blood that had gathered around the chair where all her victims had sat, bound in scratchy rope that pressed their wrists to wood so tightly that their circulation was cut, so that they were in pain even before coming in acquaintance with her well-picked instruments…

And like an artist with instruments of steel, she'd strummed chords of pain with the articulations that she tore from their bodies in her rage, and she'd reveled in it, reveled, oblivious to the screams and weeping of the wives that she'd forced to sit around the chair as spectators… no, not oblivious, completely and utterly in _ecstasy_ at the sound of it all…

Yes, Gladys had endured that hell. She'd been dragged through it, before clawing herself out of it, managing to smuggle her daughter out of the headquarters with the help of a few sympathetic acolytes who hadn't been rebels but who'd taken pity on her, and who thought her views weren't completely wrong… But of course, they couldn't be trusted either. In the heat of it all she hadn't been thinking straight- she had thought that if she reached home, it would be fine, she would be able to contact a few people to take care of her daughter while she made plans to disappear, but she had known full well that Leeu was sending her acolytes to the traitors' houses to personally punish them… oh, that afternoon had had no end. She'd managed to drag herself to Izzy's place after fighting off her pursuers, riding bareback with her daughter as far away from headquarters as she could- but of course, the journey being too long for the poor animal, they hadn't been 1 kilometre from Izzy's Magic Carpet Corp. when the beast collapsed beneath mother and daughter.

Oh, the shame she'd felt, lying there in the sand with a bloody face as she tried to reassure her daughter that it was going to be alright, that if she just continued on going Northward towards the big rocky shadow they could see in the distance, she would reach help, she would reach sanctuary.

The shame she'd felt when she knew her legs could no longer carry her, that she had to send her daughter into an unknown place by herself- and the complete self-disgust when she'd awoken from her miniature coma and found that her daughter had half-carried, half-dragged her to Izzy's doors, too afraid for her mother's life to just leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere with a dead horse as company.

The revolting _shame_ of it all… she'd made her daughter suffer all that for the sake of a single woman.  
And that woman was going to pay. Right here. Right now.

With a huff, the Arabic demoness slid her scimitar into her belt and ran where her intuition would take her- she knew that Leeu was skulking around somewhere in these streets, and she prayed to whatever vengeful god who accepted to aid her for the wench to not have been killed by those sentient sand-devils. She sped down streets full of gagging, choking, dying men, writhing around on the floor at her feet and she paid absolutely no attention to those who tried to grab at the billowing hems of her robes- she had a goal. She didn't care to stop in her course and offer the dying ones a bit of comfort, which was really all that a dying man would ever beg for, all that was really worth giving him. And when she almost stumbled over one of the men's outstretched hands, hearing his wrist crack dryly as the sudden pressure of her foot against it made it give out- she could not care _less_.

_Where are you, you disgusting daughter of sh'Irlm?_

She ran, she ran- until she finally recognized a feminine figure hunched by a tent, in the shadows of a few wicker boxes of supplies, her arm around her stomach and a hand clamped to her mouth.

The poor thing looked _petrified._ Gladys scanned her over quickly with her good eye, slowing to a rather dramatic walk with her black skirts fluttering ominously around her legs, advancing down the alleyway towards the trembling figure of what had been the leader of these decimated troops.

Leeu looked up, hearing the muted footsteps in the sand, and then grabbed at a wicker box behind her to help herself to her feet. A smile of pure psychotic amusement spread on her bleeding lips so that her expression resembled that of the damned who know they no longer have anything to lose, save perhaps their precious selves, and who think that it is all so ridiculous to have to die like this.

Yes, it was ridiculous for Leeu to die with sword in hand. Gladys would've gladly chained her up and tortured her to death, like the woman had done to her husband and compatriots- she wasn't ashamed to admit that this woman deserved any kind of wrath that she was about to bestow upon her. It was simply too bad that there weren't any convenient places round the corner, nor the actual time, to slowly drive Leeu's mind completely insane with pain and guilt… oh, how sweet that dream was, the Arabic woman thought coldly as she came into battle-range to the woman she so loathed.

"What a pleasure to see you, my sweet friend," Leeu laughed, her eyes sparkling with something that seemed to be complete and utter abandon. Clamping her fingers mechanically around the ivory hilt of her sword, her wrist performed an elegant little swerve as she unhooked the blade from her belt and flipped it around her hand in a beautiful, supple movement, getting ready for what she knew would be one fiery battle.

Gladys didn't waste time with words or pretty sword tricks. She lunged, a horrific shriek bursting from her lips- a shriek of disdain, of all the revulsion she felt for this woman, and all the violence that had inhabited her soul ever since she'd watched her husband writhe in his blood, powerless and pathetic.

Leeu brought up her sword with a glitch in her facial expression- her brow furrowed, her teeth ground together. She threw off the mad woman in black. Attacked, slid her blade across the length of her foe's, before throwing a punch and catching Gladys's temple with her bony knuckles. Gladys staggered backwards, before planting one foot firmly to the left and violently swiping her sword toward Leeu's face- the coloured woman ducked with an automaton's precision, rolling to the side, leaping back up, lunging again- they danced around each other, their blades screeching together and ripping apart the very air with their metallic song. Leeu had never before encountered such an adversary- this woman fought like the devil, quick and sharp with that eye seemingly watching every single movement, foreseeing each strategy of attack, and beneath all those billowing black lengths of clothes, it seemed that her body was totally flexible, forever dodging and spinning and twisting like some horrid parody of a ballet dancer on fast-forward.

Oh, she recognized Gladys all right. She'd taken quite a pleasure in torturing useless words out of her husband… ah, so that was why the woman seemed so bent on hacking her up? She laughed aloud, aware that she was completely out of her mind – well, how could one exactly react when one had turned loose a horrific entity capable of destroying the world and had just watched her army being completely wiped out by insubstantial demons summoned from the very imagination of a reincarnated Egyptian queen?

Well, she thought she had at least a _few_ reasons to be insane.

And, right now? Only a good thrust and the satisfaction of swallowing that last breath that her victim would sigh could put her in her right mind… she found such satisfaction in it all. Perhaps it was wrong- perhaps killing wasn't the best thing to go to when feeling in the need to decompress… but, here she was at the mercy of some Arabic madwoman, and the two were twirling around and around each other, slashing straight through tents when their blows missed, hacking off one of two fingers of those hapless few who lay suffering on the floor around their feet when their swords swept too low.

They didn't care. They were enrapt in their vengeance.

Two vengeful spirits, fighting, fighting- there was no end to their grace, to their desperation; the pattern that they wove upon the sand with their dancing feet grew ever redder and more intricate as their dance wore on.

They were too furious, to lost in their minds, or perhaps out of them- Gladys wanted to see this woman bleed, and Leeu, well, she didn't care- she was laughing- she just wanted to continue on because this had all taken such a horrendous turn that she no longer knew how to react, how to think, how to formulate any kinds of plans.

Perhaps she didn't really care to die. She knew it was inevitable.

And it was with that maturity, with that knowledge that she took on Gladys' blow, feeling the blade sinking into her stomach, feeling every particle of her body being perforated by what felt like a demon's fiery tongue- she collapsed into the wall of a tent, bringing the entire thing down with her as she shrieked with laughter, mad till the end- and Gladys was pulled down with her, losing her footing and having no choice but to fall ontop of this raving psychopath who was giggling like… oh, dearest Allah, no mortal ears should've heard that kind of laughter, that kind of insanity. Perhaps it was because of the disgust that made her hesitate that Leeu's knife actually found its way to the woman's throat-

"GLADYS!"

Jonathan had run up to the scene, hearing the commotion and the screams quite clearly amidst the drone of the agonizing acolytes- he came just in time to see a jet of blood splattering across the falling Henna-coloured walls of the tent, the two interlaced bodies of the women disappearing beneath the folds of heavy fabric.

He watched in horror as the fabric of the tent slowly settled on the two women's bodies, his booted feet skidding to a halt and his pea-shooter falling from his fingers.

He waited, open-mouthed, though he was unsure as to why he was simply standing there instead of rushing to the collapsed tent and retrieving Gladys from its heavy ochre folds.

He waited… waited for this feeling to become coherent. Curiously… his chest was heaving, and his throat was thick with regret and disbelief, but… he felt as though this was somehow …_right_.

Two vengeful spirits. Two women torn completely to shreds with grief, with a furious desire for bloodshed, bearing a profound hate for a face that they could hardly place a name upon… was it right, to live in constant hate, in constant torment? Was it right to feel such passion for the death of one whom we did not even fully know? To live solely for vengeance… was that truly a good life? Did that make one a good person, in the end…?

Jonathan closed his eyes, lowered his chin. He sent a prayer for Gladys, feeling strangely calm, meditative, which really wasn't in his nature- but he'd just come to understand something, he'd just found out something that he found heartbreakingly deep, and he was filled with regret for these women who had somehow not been fully alive, who'd lost themselves ever since they'd endured the drama that would stain their lives evermore…

He watched the wind whip up the dusty corners of the fallen tent with dry, glittering eyes.

_My, Jonnie old boy, you seem to have grown up._

But, in the end, nothing- not even this sudden understanding of something far more intricate than the most complicated poker game he'd ever played, could've prepared him for what he next laid his eyes upon.

Rick. Staggering down the alleyway towards him like a drunkard, unable to keep himself up on his two feet. The American's head was bowed, and there were tears shining on his chin, and his mouth was open in a contorted expression of grief beyond any description.

"J…Jon… oh, Jon…"

The Britton leapt towards his brother-in-law, putting an arm around the man's shoulders to support him, trying to peek at the man's broken face through the strands of disheveled hair that hid it from view.

"What is it? What's happened?"

Rick only struggled to breath, still hanging his head, still trying to persuade his heart to keep beating.

Jon looked at the man's face. He looked. He looked.

And, somehow, he didn't quite know how… he thought he understood.

**xxx**

They were silent as the red sun bled into the horizon, splashing inky red streaks across the gentle amethyst of the sky. The night was coming- stars were already beginning to shine, indifferent to anything but their own cold splendor, including those travelers way down below on the dunes of the desert that they watched over.

The mare walked on, huffing exhaustedly through her moist nostrils, daintily picking her hooves up out of the sand at each step as though she was walking on eggs. She snorted as Nefertiri's nimble hands pulled a little on her rope-rein, turning her to the left. They had reached an area of desert where majestic giants of rock rose from the sand in all shapes and forms imaginable- some were like an enormous, jagged-edged human torso with a bolder balancing ontop like a strange head, while others were like the crumbling remains of a great wall that had once separated two war-mongering civilizations. Not one tuft of greenery in sight, though- only these magnificent natural monuments towering all around them, and the sand that their steed trod on.

"Nut is draping herself in shadow," murmured Nefertiri, gazing up at the sky, breaking the comfortable silence that had reigned between the two ever since they'd left the campsite, hours ago now. She felt the man behind her shift a little, indicating that she'd somewhat surprised him by being the first to speak.

Her eyes were on the rocky wall to their left, and the safe shadow it cast upon the ground where she thought it might be wise to stop and rest. She sighed in content, somehow calm now that there was this barren stretch of time before her in which she could do whatever she wanted- she especially wanted to think on this, to think on everything that had happened so far, and… other things, too.

"Let us stop here."

They got to the desired spot, dismounted in silence. Nefertiri watched with her arms hugging her chest as the nomad patted the mare with his free hand, heaving the saddle onto his other arm and setting the tack down in the spot where they would make camp.

She watched on silently as he rummaged through the saddlebag, retrieving a strange, flat cylindrical object and a folded up sleeping bag. She almost yelped in surprise as he clicked something on the cylindrical object and a blinding flash of light suddenly burst into life in the heart of the strange object- what was it, that thing that shone without flame or wood?

Her confusion must've been clear on her face, because the dark Medji glanced up at her and clicked off the light, letting the obscurity drop onto her beautiful features and envelope her in soft, shady colours. It was better without a light; and besides, this light wouldn't be bringing them any warmth, so there was no use in blinding both of them and disturbing the rest of the desert-dwelling creatures.

The reincarnated queen found herself wondering, as she stared at the man's overshadowed eyes, ebony irises glinting in the dark, holding their gaze almost unconsciously. She wondered…

"What is it?" the Medji murmured gently, seemingly not intimidated by her at all- on the contrary, it hadn't been because of self-consciousness that he hadn't spoken a word to her during their journey. It had simply been because words, at that moment, had been inappropriate. Just the gentle pressure of her back against his chest, her hair catching on his lips, the slender lines of her waist against his forearms… and the knowledge that they were together, alone at last; that was all that really counted, all he really cared for.

He hadn't bothered to question himself about his reasoning, or if this sensation of perfection had really lasted, because at the moment he was content- starved, broken, parched and exhausted beyond anything any human had already endured- except perhaps the Scorpion King- but content.

Nefertiri seemed amused as she looked at him, a slightly sad smile breaking on her full lips as she dropped her eyes and turned slightly, staring at the sand that whispered around her feet, dislodged by the murmur of wind.

"Do you know how Evelyn would act, in our current situation?"

Her words splashed onto his mind one by one like droplets of warm rain. He felt as though they were speaking of someone they both held dear to their hearts, which was why he suddenly felt inclined to answer her without feeling shocked or letting her words pierce the fog of contentment that lingered around his heart.

He returned her smile, pondering on an answer. "Well, she would most probably complain about something. The cold, perhaps. The lack of food and fire. She would tell me how disappointed she is by my lack of nomadic knowledge of how to create a fire with nothing save what can be scavenged from the desert. I think that, right now, she'd be huddling right over there-" He pointed to the shear wall behind Nefertiri. "- not speaking and looking at some fixed point, just to show her discontent."

Nefertiri was laughing, though not too loudly- as if she was afraid to break the night's spell, the silence that embraced the entire desert like a fond lover returning every night.

"Just as I thought," the queen said, throwing back her head to gaze at the stars as they came out, timidly, one by one. "You know… all those years, I was with her. I… was somewhat of a spectator of her life. I understand her so well… like a twin sister, perhaps. Maybe… maybe that's why I was so desperate to make her understand me in order to make the final decision on her own, with her own free will. I guess I hated being the only one who understood fully our intimate relationship that she was completely oblivious to."

The nomad stared up at her thoughtfully, still crouched by the saddlebag on the ground, his hands on the unwrapped sleeping bag. There was sense in what she was saying. And, even though he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but feel the bitter stab of something that felt like guilt when she spoke of that 'final decision'… but he didn't dwell on it.

"Not completely," he found himself saying, contributing to her string of thoughts, making her slowly lower her eyes to gaze at him again. Such grace was in her movement that for a while, her simple standing position seemed to scream royalty- but he tried to ignore that, too. Royalty was a simple status, and she had always shed it in his presence, anyway.

_No. Wait. In _Tia's_ presence._

"Somehow, unconsciously, I believe Evelyn knew. I believe she could always feel you, or at least, she felt some kind of presence- some kind of influence, that made her love the things she loved, chase after the things she so passionately yearned."

Nefertiri's eyes narrowed.

"She told you these things? She told you about the visions she had, even at her youngest ages?"

The black-clad nomad straightened up, crossed his arms as he contemplated this. "No, she told me…" _She told me the visions had come abruptly… but they hadn't, had they? _What did it mean? That Evelyn had felt uncomfortable with the knowledge that she wasn't the only one residing in her mind…? He shook his head. "She told me of her most recent visions. She spoke of them with awe, always; it seemed she enjoyed them-"

Nefertiri's scoff interrupted him.

"Yes, before the bloodshed, that much is evident. Royalty's life must seem rather extravagant to your everyday librarian."

The man stood there, observing her, drinking her words and thinking more and more: this is Nefertiri I am talking to, this is ancient, this is an old soul from a different age. It occurred to him more and more that this woman before him had an entire past, a long, fascinating history… and he had only scratched the surface.

Only scratched the surface. Yes, this woman was… still _a stranger to him._

Suddenly he felt his chest expanding, and his hands went to the sides of his head, the feeling of contentment vanishing only to leave a barren wasteland of uncertainty behind it- the questions bombarded him before he could even put a hold on the moment and gather his thoughts- _what am I doing? What have I done? Why am I out here with this- this woman-_

He was confused, he was so confused; Nefertiri obviously sensed this, but she didn't move from her spot, standing there with her arms around herself and her eyes glittering in the obscurity, strands of her hair lifted by the gentle wind.

"Oh… I'm so sorry," she whispered suddenly, and he dropped his hands, staring at her with lost eyes. "I didn't even think… to ask your name."

They seemed to be sharing the exact same thought. _We've left everything behind, abandoned the world and escaped to whatever fate awaits us… and we are but strangers to one another. _

But then what was this love, this pulsating _feeling_ that swelled in his chest as he let himself be soothed by the mere sight of her; standing wrapped in the desert's nightly tones with her eyes on his face and her lips pressed together in silence.

"I'm sorry…" she uttered, then she drew a low breath and stared up at the purple sky again.

"I thought you could tell me," Ardeth spoke a little hesitantly, not completely trusting his voice, "What do you feel, right now, for me?"

Nefertiri looked at him sharply. "Which-"

She fell silent almost instantly, as though wishing to bite back what she'd been about to say. But the one word had been more than enough.

"You cannot feel anything for me. You don't know me. But, for the one who dwells in my shadow-"

"You're wrong," the queen stated, cutting smoothly through his words, and for the first time since they'd dismounted she took a step towards him. "I do not feel a void when I look at you. I can't explain it properly, but, somehow the feeling's there." She gave a soft laugh, stopping at several steps from him. "You know, you're not so much of a stranger to me. I know everything that Evelyn knows about you… I know what she feels for you."

She was looking at him with a pained expression, and then, in one impossibly graceful gesture, her hand was on his face, a thumb touching the side of his lip.

"I may not know exactly what to expect, or what to believe in this strange life, but one thing I can truly trust is my twin- my alter ego. Like I told you, I know her like I know myself. How can I possibly be indifferent to what she finds extraordinary- how can I feel indifferent towards the ones she loves?" And then that feeling was back, the same feeling that she'd experienced when seeing Rick's ghastly expression; that outstretched hand that had not been for her… she couldn't bear it. She was looking at him almost desperately, and then she let her hand fall back to her side, the cold of the wind against her palm destabilizing her. "It is a little unsettling to feel such things for a man I have barely spent any time with…"

She didn't continue.

"I know exactly what you mean," Ardeth spoke, his voice low and a little frayed, "Though there isn't the same understanding between me and Tia, there is… there is this mutual feeling."

"But, _how_?" Nefertiri said, and it could've been a wail if her voice hadn't been so hushed, almost despairing in its sad quality; "How can I love a man I have never encountered before? How can I love you, _how_? How is it possible?"

And the despair, the way her arms tightened around her bosom and her foot ran up the back of her other leg in a gesture of discomfort- he found it cruel to just leave her wallowing there on her own, in the cold of the night. He didn't exactly know why he stepped forward- and he was tired of always asking for reasons. All he knew was that he had turned her around and he'd wrapped his arms around her, taking her away from her solitude, away from the cold- and that he relished the proximity. He needed no other reasoning- he didn't care for any.

"Let me tell you…" He whispered, his voice about as loud as the wind making loose grains of sand play around their feet. He wasn't even sure of what he was about to say- but the perfection was back, the contentment was drowning all senses of uncertainty he'd previously had, now that he could feel the warmth of her crossed forearms against his chest (she hadn't unfolded them from herself), the iciness of her breath against his throat, her body heat deliciously embracing him. "Perhaps we, the individuals, aren't meant to feel anything at all. But you feel Evelyn, there, pulsating within you- just as I feel my own alter ego pressing against my heart; we cannot stay oblivious to them, simply because we are their hosts. And, you needn't know the reason for which you breathe the air you breathe- as long as you know the reason for which you are present in this life, in this age, then why question these feelings? They are only natural."

Nefertiri stayed silent, as though meditating his words. She still hadn't unwrapped her arms from around herself, though he seemed to sense her smiling sadly.

"You speak as though they are the puppet-masters," she whispered, "Evelyn, Evelyn feels so strongly for you… and Tia for me, I assume…"

"Yes," The word was but a breath as Ardeth bent his head, pressing his lips against the woman's forehead. "Impossibly so."

He felt her shaking her head, moving infinitesimally closer to his body, her mouth almost on his neck.

"_What do you want from me?_" The question was so quiet that he wasn't sure if she'd uttered it, or if he'd heard her thoughts. But he heard it all right, and he was asking himself the same thing. Instinct took over. He didn't find the need to explain… there was just this one moment, this one desire… this one perfection.

And he was afraid it would disappear soon.

"Let us simply grant them a favour…" he told her, softly, pulling back to slide a palm beneath her jaw line and push up her face, taking in the melancholia of her expression and the delicate beauty of her features… such delicacy. He was almost afraid to soil her with his dirty, chapped hands, with his heavy-lidded gaze that told her every detail of his intentions without even having to speak the words. "…_the puppets that we are…_"

And then his lips were grazing her own, shyly, not wanting to startle her- his fingers were on her neck, moving downward, deliciously rough and making her skin tingle- finally letting go of her mind, she lifted her chin, parted her lips, and tasted the humid warmth of his mouth, wondering idly if this would be the same, if this would feel the same as… as _him_…

He broke off their contact, only to take her again in a feverish embrace, his lips molding hers and his fingers pushing into her hair; she unfolded her arms from herself, trembling, laying her palms flat against his pectoral muscles, feeling the steady heaving of his chest with each soft exhalation he let pass through his nose- he seemed to remember how to breath, yet she could feel her chest about to explode, though it wasn't entirely because of lack of oxygen- no, she relished this feeling of utter thoughtlessness, the beauty of abandoning oneself to the sensations; the burning of his tongue against hers, the feel of the tips of his fingers kneading the skin of her scalp, and the complete delight as he pressed her against him with his free arm, encircling her waist in a possessive grip. And the serpent of wanton heat coiling itself in her lower body, electrifying her, making her want more- more contact, more heat, more of this delicious headiness…

And then she found that she could almost smell the musky perfume that Tia always wore, almost taste the bitter wine on his lips, almost trick herself that that hand traveling down her neck and collarbone wore the habitual three rings of twisted silver, fingers sticky with the dates that he'd plucked from Royalty's banquet table…

_She could hear a voice in a room, somewhere far away, so far away…_

She pulled away.

…_and it was screaming, screaming…_

She turned her head. Broke their kiss. Heard it shatter at their feet, heard his soft sigh as he reluctantly pulled back too to look at her.

"Is this right?" she whispered.

Heartbeats rung mutely in the silence.  
"I have long since given up on that question," Ardeth admitted to her, watching her with those deep, dark eyes that she knew so well. Those eyes that she'd last seen in the face of a dying man, from whom she'd stolen the last breath…

"Then perhaps it is the wrong question to ask," she said softly, looking at the play of moonlight on the bumpy skin of his throat. "Is this… quite fair?"

He frowned at her. Yet he knew where she was coming from… he could feel their moment cracking like a mirror, sharp shards falling one by one, assaulting him like daggers of reality. He didn't want to admit this. He didn't want to stop.

"I mean," Nefertiri tried nevertheless to explain, "Through me, you seek Evelyn. And through you, Tia seeks me." She sighed. "This is not a fair game."  
"It has never been fair," Ardeth whispered huskily, "You were never meant to go through that horror in your life. It wasn't fair for you to suffer such things, and it wasn't fair for you to die when you had just begun to understand. You…"

"_No._" The word was just a breath, a flicker of powder over his own, but he stopped to listen, hearing her breaths gradually quickening. "I've come to understand that second chances cannot exist. You… it wouldn't be right for you to accept to be overridden by Tia's soul. I may not know you personally, but Evelyn told me that you're a very complicated person… yet you deserve your life. You deserve to live. Tia… Tia never meant to follow me into immortality. I understand now."

She was sobbing, and half-kissing his neck, half hiccupping in her attempts to breath. He felt her tears like liquid fire against his throat, dripping on his shoulder- he took in her words, took in her sadness. He didn't know what to say. She was right, she was right… what had he been thinking? This wasn't fair, to him, or to her, or to the other two souls who so desperately sought to have an influence on this life. This couldn't work out. Lives could not simply be overridden, to use her words… how could one judge if a person deserved to live more than another? How could one good person sacrifice herself to be replaced by another? It hardly made sense, and the unfairness of it was like a knife to the heart. He hadn't realized. Or, he'd been keeping it hidden, locked up somewhere in the haze of contentment that had all but evaporated by now.

They couldn't continue. They couldn't go on like this, not knowing whose thought was occupying their minds- theirs, or their alter-ego's?- not knowing what passions to trust, which loves were real.

They couldn't constantly live in abandon, thinking that it didn't matter anyway, as long as this feeling of perfection lasted… and yet, the perfection corrupted. It was unreal. It was not theirs to savour.

Perhaps that was why the nomad could feel his own tears sliding coldly down his face, getting entangled in his beard. He held her to him, this woman who was unreal, who shouldn't have ever received a kiss from a substantial mortal three millennia's past her own age.

"You never thought of letting Tia through, did you?" she whispered.

He shook his head mutely, not trusting his voice.

"And he never influenced you other than now, he never tried to speak to you, to show you visions…"

The same silent acquiescence.

"So all he was doing was really waiting for me… waiting for my reincarnation, in order to tell me how I wrong I was to believe that we really could be granted a second chance. We cannot have a second chance at living one particular life. It is over when it is over. There must be no regrets." She sounded like she was trying to persuade herself, swallowing her sobs, her little hands curling into fists on his chest. "There _can't_ be any regrets."

"Yet you seem to be ridden with regrets," Ardeth whispered to her, holding her closer, before exhaustion finally kicked in and forced him to gently fall back onto the sleeping bag that he'd unfolded, bring her down with him so that he was sitting with his legs apart, and she was snuggled between them, against his chest, the top of her head under his chin. Her eyes were closed as she savoured this all-too-familiar position, and they basked in this intimacy that seemed so beautifully ephemeral. One last moment. Both understood, though neither spoke for a full minute.

"Yes," she finally broke the silence, sweet though it was, "Regrets. I suppose they are what gave me the strength to break the laws of Time, this desperate want to set things right… but this is wrong, us, we're wrong together; this can't work. I was wrong."

"One must never regret," Ardeth told her, "It burdens the heart, it encages the mind. So many things were not your fault- your father's death, Tia's, and all those murders… you had to accept them as incorrigible parts your life. You cannot simply come back to haunt us, dragging your burdens behind you as you try to continue an existence that was already extinguished even when you still breathed the ancient Egyptian air."

The sobs came in earnest now, and there was nothing he could do to soothe her, no words he could think of that would make it better. There weren't many options left, both of them knew that. And they knew that this wasn't going to be easy… it never had been.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, so silently that he hardly heard her, and she said the word again and again, never changing her heartbroken nuance, never relinquishing the tension in her fist as she grasped the ruined fabric of Ardeth's robe, as if to steady herself. What could he do, save hold her and feel her bosom heaving against his chest with each trembling breath she took, drinking her sorrow and feeling a peculiar numbness in his mind… he knew it was Tia, yearning to comfort her, though he could have no physical contact, and the mere knowledge of his alter-ego's fruitless desire saddened him, saddened him to a point where he almost broke his defenses and let the old soul through.  
But he regained control, waiting for Nefertiri's sorrow to subside, waiting for her much as Tia had, feeling endless sympathy for her… and he realized faintly that the influence had gone, that he no longer felt the urge to love her or anything of the sort.

He was waiting for her to go. And Tia was waiting for her to come.

And all she had to do was lift her head, and accept this.

Accept it. Accept it as her fate…

"I will…" she whispered, "I will try to find her, for you…"

He almost started at her words, knowing full well that she spoke of Evelyn, her beloved 'twin'; his mind suddenly reeled at the possibility that her soul might still be truly alive, somewhere far away… and he felt a surge of gratitude to this woman, this queen, as she heaved a sigh that sounded rather peculiarly… content.

And that was all. His heart full of gratitude and sorrow as he felt her relaxing against him, releasing one last breath against his throat, and it sounded like a whisper…_ thank you…_ and somehow he felt Tia's presence smiling, a certain radiance seeping into his being as he held her against him in one last embrace that surely she could still feel, as she silently slipped from Evelyn's body, surrendering, and like a breath of wind… finally departing.

**xxx**

His fingers gripped the railing so hard that he made it rattle, flakes of rust sticking to his palms and the tips of his fingers, so that when he reached to rub away his tears, he left little specks of orange dust around his eyes. His face seemed to glisten in the moonlight: no matter how many times he wiped his damn eyes, the tears would still come, the same thought would still haunt him, the same words would still spin around and around in his mind like some tantalizing merry-go-round from Hell.

Evelyn. That sweet, lovely woman, who he'd married, who he'd impregnated, who he'd _loved_, for God's sake. And there was no past tense about it. He looked stubbornly at the stars, refusing to acknowledge the men's whispering behind him, letting nothing perturb his gloomy trail of thoughts- not the occasion spurt of fire that the dirigible made to feed the great balloon that held them aloft, nor the quite murmurings of Jonathan and Alex and Izzy, nor the soft whimpers of that little girl, Sierra, who was still crying in her sleep- like him, she hadn't seemed to be able to shut down her tear-ducts ever since they had departed from that graveyard that had been Leeu's campsite, the place that would probably be Eve's last memory… oh, but _God_, her last memories hadn't even been of him! Her eyes had probably been full of random acolytes' faces, and their damn ridiculous red turbans, and also the flames that danced on the tips of the torches, and why not a little bit of Ardeth, too- but why was there this jealousy, this mistrust, this _pain_ whenever he thought of his best friend and his little Eve sitting together, trying to survive, trying to find comfort in each other's presence… he was so useless, _useless_… he'd come too late, he hadn't done enough, he'd wasted too much time, he hadn't been serious enough, he'd let her slip from his fingers- careless! Careless!

_Indignant husband… you never deserved her. _

_She who was the reincarnation of an ancient queen. _

_She who was a deep, deep well of all kinds of sacred knowledge that are lost to the people of this age._

_She who was an even deeper well of love… and for who was it destined, huh? For the likes of _you_? Scruffy, ill-mannered American?_

Apparently so… he seemed to remember a few lines that his Medji friend had once uttered, though they came to him like fireflies in the midst of the heavy, grey fog that cluttered his mind.

_It was all foreseen, thousands of years ago… a reincarnated princess, a warrior for God, and a way to Ahm Shere… _

But- but weren't there _two_ warriors for God in this deluded story? Wasn't Ardeth a fucking Medji too? So did that mean that _destiny_ gave him the _fucking rights_ to elope with his _wife-_?

A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, and he gave an unconscious whimper as he was jolted from his grim reverie. Turning his head around a little to see his interlocutor, O'Connell swallowed that disgustingly pitiful expression that had been splashed over his face and carefully sculpted a new, smooth, marble visage onto his face. Like a Venice festival mask. No one needed to see his real face. No one needed to know that yes, people like him _did _have a weakness- a tender underbelly that one could go for under that rocky carapace.

"Feel like a splash of brandy, old pal?"

Jonathan's voice was thin, unsteady, like the whisper of a rope-walker's slippers as he treads his uncertain path. He had the intricate neck of a crystal bottle clasped in the fingers of his right hand, his left palm resting on O'Connell's sagging shoulder.

"Come on, it'll reboot this dried out system of ours. You know you want it."

"Gimme that," O'Connell grunted, snatching the bottle from his brother-in-law and taking a deep swig. He tilted the bottle back down before he'd even finished swallowing, a trickle of coppery liquid dripping down his chin, and he balanced the butt of the bottle against the railing, his eyes far away on the white half-moon that peeked out at them from behind its dark stage-curtain.

"Ah, old habits die hard, eh my friend?" Jon smiled without humour, his arm stretching out so that it slumped around the American's shoulders in an amicable way. The Britt heaved a sigh, his brow knotted in an expression of befuddlement and, somehow, his eyes seemed to glint with some newly acquired maturity. "There's nothing like a good shot of this old mum to get you back on track."

"Jonathan, my track is just… blown away." A clumsy hand gesture to illustrate this. "You know how it is. We both know how it is. We've been through this before. Except, the last time she died, there wasn't some godamn _fag_ just waiting 'round the corner to sweep her off her feet as soon as the chance came." He grunted in what seemed like pain that he'd tried to mold into exasperation, and then as if to cloak this little slip, he took another swig of _eau de vie_.

"The last time she died, at least it was proper," Jonathan scoffed, not really amused by the facts, but more like so exhausted by all this that it seemed ridiculous now. "Like it's meant to be done. Knife, belly, internal hemorrhage. Nice and clean. There weren't any _scarabs_ to pick her apart or a whole divine intervention flirting with her soul, for Chrissakes."

"There also wasn't some freaking idiot playing around with her mind," Then the American suddenly seemed to wake up. "What are the odds, Jon, what are the odds that he managed to seduce her, huh? What d'you think? D'you think that the whole 'cartwheeling around with the Pharaoh's daughter' idea still appealed to him when he was alone with her? What d'you think? Where d'you think he touched her, huh? Do you think he made her smile? Or cry? Or perhaps even laugh?"

"Rick, Rick my boy, these aren't the thoughts to have. Ardeth's a reasonable old chap. I don't think he'd ever dare to touch another man's girl, and if he ever did, you sure as hell know that you wouldn't be the only one wishing to put a few bumps and bruises in the man's pretty face." Jonathan had a little acidic grin on his face, the moonlight shining off his forehead, making his head look as smooth and round as an egg. "I don't think I'd stand any other man touching my sister," he admitted with a strangely soft voice. "I don't… I don't think I'd forgive her, if she really _did_… you know. Choose Nefertiri's soul over her own. Or however it goes."

There was a silence.

"I know what you mean," Rick said after a sigh of acknowledgement. "I know how bitter that feels. And trust me, I'd rather not be familiar with this kind of feeling, but it seems like neither of us has much of a choice."

"So much commotion, so much damn drama… over a single woman." Jonathan's laugh was almost hearty. "Who'd've thought? Only our Eve could ever stir things up so much."

Rick turned around to slap a palm on his brother-in-law's shoulder, his eyes glittering in the darkness as he carefully watched the British man's expression. Both men seemed determined, both had a resolute pinch in their mouths, a dent in their brows as they looked at each other and let pass a string of understanding between them. They loved the same woman; they could both abandon absolutely anything for her. And that was probably why they could still stand each other's presence in these dark times- that was probably why it didn't hurt so much if it was with one another that they shared this sudden desolate solitude, this downward spiral in which they had both been thrown that threatened to drive them both crazy.  
This was their family. And they were the men in this whole affair, weren't they? They had to take care of things, sweep up this mess. It didn't matter who was more virile than the other… they both had the same duties.

They were going to get her back, whatever the cost, whatever it took; even if it wasn't completely her, they didn't care, they would find out a solution in the end. There always hope… at least, they kept telling themselves so.

For if there hadn't been any hope from the start, how in God's name had they survived up till here…?

"So we're headed to the Medji's temporary camp, right?" Jonathan scratched his head, thinking upon the information that Rick had told him: Ardeth had briefly explained how the tribes that he ruled over were constantly on the more around Egypt, but there were particular times in the year when they'd settle in certain places for a few months. Now, it was approaching Autumn; this meant that the camp was only two days of flight away, to the North-east.  
"Right." He'd given Izzy the coordinates. Eve was only two days away… only two days.

"It's still not over…ah, Christ," Jonathan moaned, turning around dramatically and waving his arms in the air like a clumsy comedian; "When will it ever end?"

"Well, one thing's for sure," Rick said darkly as he turned for the railing and headed for the tent in the middle of the dirigible, "It'll end as soon as that nomadic pretty-boy's forehead gets acquainted with the barrels of my fucking rifle, that's when. And Eve's coming back home even if we have to carry her wriggling and struggling on our shoulders." He threw a playful punch at Jonathan's stomach as he passed him, grinning as the Britton doubled over exaggeratedly, as always. "How does that sound to you, bro?"

"Marvelous, marvelous," Jonathan wheezed, clutching at his stomach and faintly admiring how Rick seemed to have gotten his hopes back up- however slim they were. "Just plain _fantastic._"

They would need a bit of hope, after all.

Their journey wasn't quite at its end…


	21. Fatale

**a&n:** Oh, alright, I know, I should totally be reading Sinister Resurrection and Pistol and The Journey of a Slave, but... aw, man, you all admitted that you're procrastinators, so what if I told you I want to join the circle? ;) And besides, I really owe you all a bit of speed in the updates seeing as you're so faithfully coming back to tell me what you think of this. Thanks so much for the attention, I mean it! I'm sorry this can't be more homosexual / Anck-centric / humourous / Jon-centric / anything that you'd each love to see... but this is supposed to be Ardeth/Evy, right? I can always write the mother of all Rick/Jon slash once I've finished with this huge, endless thing. So, on with the chapter! I'll be reading your fantastic works as soon as possible, you crazy writers, I promise!  
**music:** Oh, hell. If anyone knows the song _Virtuoso of Pervesity_, then a. I want you to listen to it over and over for this chapter, and b. CONTACT ME!  
**warning:** Hm... this is one slashy chapter. I know no one is as fond of Ardeth/Evy as I am, but I hope you enjoy this nonetheless!

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* * *

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**REGENESIS**

**Chapter twenty-one  
****_Fatale_  
**

**xxx**

His thoughts were hazy… he couldn't seem to adjust his eyes to the obscurity, and after a moment's worth of half-hearted struggling, the boy found that he'd stuck his head under the covers, his hands near his face and a little bundle of warmth huddling against his torso. Sierra was lying there with him where he'd lulled her to sleep, and he could hear vague noises coming from above- they were in the belly of the dirigible, their faces against the scratchy carpets, their ears full of the noise of chinking glasses and rumbling laughter.

"You could've at least called the woman back, you heartless bastard."

"Oh, right, _you_ can really talk! You treat women like a- like _royalty_, don't you? I don't personally know what they see in you, Rick, old boy." A pause- perhaps a swig of alcohol or whatever the two men were infusing their veins with- and a rather loud gulp before continuing. "See here- the first thing you called Evy before even knowing her name was _the broad_. And, not even a couple of weeks later, the woman's already sacrificing her sense of hygiene for you and sitting atop a camel to kiss the living daylights out of you. Now, I don't know _what_ you did, or _what_ you said to her, but you're going to have to teach me a few tricks here, my dear fellow."

A hearty, drunken scoff. "You're a femme fatale all to yourself, Jon. That's your problem. You're too much of a woman to be properly appealing to any girl who's got more on her mind than the cost of the covers you'll be stuffing her into for only a third of the night."

"_What_- that was bloody uncalled for! I was only asking for advice-"

Alex groaned, raising one hand to rub his eyes and pulling down the covers with the other. His ears rung with the burst of laughter that came from above, and once the darkness of the covers left his face, his eyes were suddenly assaulted by a blinding ray of white dawn that was somehow struggling through a crack in the dirigible's wooden belly.

Intrigued, the youngster pulled himself out of the covers somewhat haggardly, a bit like an oversized caterpillar wriggling out of its cocoon- his mind was still revolving slowly on itself, startled out of sleep a little too soon for its liking, and he didn't quite know what was going on as he stepped over to the crack in the curved wall and pressed an eye to the windy gap.

He could see the desert, with its interminable sand dunes glowing a warm shade of orange against the light, ghastly blue of the morning sky. He couldn't see a single cloud- only vague worms of rock perturbed the horizon, perturbed the monochrome of the desert with their craggy brown edges. Not one insect in the air- not one hum of life, if you didn't count the occasional burst of flames that was sounded by the dirigible to keep it aloft.

It was a peaceful sight to behold. Alexander's eyes narrowed as he let the gentle breeze play on his plump cheeks, sift through his uncombed tufts of blond hair. His mind was blank, not even hazy with sleep any more, just blissfully white and empty.

He was just anticipating the heavy thud that his heart would make when the realities would come back to him. But until then… he was caught in the secret birth of the sun on the planes of the desert that no one saw, save those who lived in the sandy bowels of the desert itself.

A link in his mind sparked violently to life. _Desert people. Ardeth. _

_Mom…_

As he'd expected, his chest expanded and he began to recall the events that had happened the day before. Ardeth had taken his mother, who had apparently been overtaken by Nefertiri's soul. He didn't really know what to make of that… except that, in his mind, mothers' souls didn't just cease to exist. He would get her back, just as he had with his uncle Jon back at Ahm Shere; he had no doubts about that. The possibility that his mother had ceased to exist just wasn't- couldn't- his mind couldn't take that in, so he left it aside.

According to Jon, Gladys was dead. Leeu… well, who knew if the blow had really killed her? It seemed she could still draw breath even if her entire body was ravaged- all she needed was a little vengeful motivation and then she morphed into some species of immortal who didn't stop to breathe or think or eat or sleep in their quest.

Which made him think of Imhotep. And subsequently, of Ardeth, which forced his train of thought onto the rails of his mother, once again.

He admitted it. He tried not to think of his mother non-stop, he really did, but… everything somehow boiled down to her. And the more he thought of her, the more he worried, the more… the more that horrid possibility that her soul had been crushed like Gladys had foreseen seemed real… _but it couldn't, it couldn't…_

He leaned his forehead against the shabby planks of the wall with a dry sigh. He had to stop being a child and going around in circles like this, even though technically he was only ten years old and he was _allowed_ to be hysterical if he wanted to.

But Jonathan was already hysterical enough for the both of them. After all, _someone_ had to act like a grown-up who knew exactly where they were all headed, right?

_Someone_ needed to keep believing that it wouldn't be some ancient Queen that they were running after, and that it was possible that Eve might really come back.

_You're asking me? I'm only eight years old, for Chrissakes!_

Alex smiling wryly, still peeking out at the sensual curves and rolls of the desert sands. This was why he always felt a little different from the other boys… they didn't constantly need to prove that their level of maturity was superior to their uncle's in order to keep a firm grip on the situation at hand, and they had never felt that peculiar pressure of reincarnating their mother while their father battles some half-scorpion mutant king from a lost age and their uncle gets his ass kicked by some petty trident-wielding girl.

He was a weird kid. But he had his excuses.

Still meditating on his current position and the one that awaited him when they finally got home, which seemed so far away now, the boy suddenly glimpsed something dark on the sun-whipped dunes down below. It was a dark creature… it left sloppy tracks behind it as it moved on through the desert at a lazy pace. He squinted. It was a horse- no- who was that on its back-!?

His heart in his throat, Alex flung himself at the ladder and clambered up it, throwing open the trapdoor and making the two drunkards above yelp in surprise as he seemingly appeared in the tent between them. Rick was slouching on the right bench, and Jonathan was on the left one, his morning alcohol splashed all over his face and dripping from his nose as he stared at Alex with a baffled expression.  
"Well _that's_ nice-"

"There's someone on the dunes! I saw them! I saw them!" Alex shouted, though his two interlocutors were hardly at 30 centimetre's distance from him. He leapt at the tent flaps, ripping back the flimsy material and calling for the two men to follow him out.  
"What d'you mean, there's someone- we can't have caught up with Ardeth already," Rick muttered, seemingly to himself as he planted his glass on the cushions of the bench and hurried after his son, gesturing at his brother-in-law to come.

"What on earth are you _blathering_ about- Evy and Ardeth are well ahead of us!" Jonathan agreed distractedly, plunging out of the tent and joining his little family at the railing of the dirigible, just at the spot where Evy had penetrated in Imhotep and Anck-su-Namun's private little visioning of their past life. Three pairs of hands gripped the rusty railing, three hearts bumped harshly against heaving ribcages, three pairs of expectant eyes looked out at the desert below them- they could almost glimpse the high wall of rock that hid the Medjai village, even though they were still a whole day away, and almost directly below them, there was the figure on horseback that Alex had been shouting about.

"Look! There! It's only one person I think, but he's going in the same direction as us-"

"Wait, shush, Alex, let us at least take a look-"

But Jonathan's words were cut off by a yelp of pain as Rick's palm crushed his fingers against the railing, the man's body pressing against his own as Rick leaned forward and to the side for a better look.

"Godamnit, I don't believe this," he muttered, not even noticing Jon's wild movements as the poor Britt tried to pull his fingers out of the agonizing squeeze. "It's her."

Finally managing to slip his fingers out from under Rick's palm, Jonathan sucked on the side of his bruised hand absently whilst asking, "Who?"

"Look for yourself; she's got red clothes, she's bent over in pain it looks like, and she's got that fucking ridiculous afro- it's Ardeth's old buddy, the one who started all this." Yes, the one who'd held Ardeth at her feet with a hand in his hair to keep his bleeding head straight- the one who'd held him and Evy captive, the one who'd promised torture for the nomad for the sake of some dead parent… it was because of her that Evy and Ardeth had been given privileged time together- because of her that somehow the damn nomad had made her warm up to him- because of her that his chest was heaving frantically with rage and that his hand was feeling around his waist for a gun that he might've left-

"I don't know how the hell she survived, but we're killing that woman, right here, right now-" The American growled almost bestially, but just as he upholstered a gun from under his armpit and turned to shout orders at Izzy who was slouching over the wheel, clandestinely asleep by the looks of it, a hand was squeezing his shoulder and Jon's face swam into view. Rick's mind was reeling on alcohol and jealousy and all those wonderful feelings that a husband gets when imagining his wife in the tattooed hands of a mysterious handsome fellow- and somehow it seemed that Jonathan was the one who was required to make the most sense, and to save this situation before it got stickier than it already was. Hey, the occasion didn't happen often, but when it did, it was bound to be a crucial moment.

"Don't do it, don't do it, wait, _think_ for a moment, old boy," Jon was saying, desperately trying to distract Rick in his sudden mutiny. His other hand left the railing to grab Rick's other shoulder to steady the man before he did anything stupid- and then Jon had wheeled his brother-in-law right around, and the gun had clattered to the floor and Rick's wide eyes were staring at the Britt as though this sudden authority was really surprising him.

"Now listen to me, Rick. That woman- I know she'd done horrible things, and that just about everyone here hates her for it all, but I watched her die, Rick my boy- I watched her fall with Gladys in her grip and I watched the two of them getting wrapped up in a falling tent. I didn't know what to think of it, but that woman… she's ungodly strong, that's for sure, seeing as she's always pulling herself out of whatever fix she's stuck in, even if that particular fix is death by a blade in the stomach- she's a resilient one, even though it seems like she's got nothing left to fight for-"

"Alright, making elaborate speeches doesn't suit you, so get to the point, would you?"

Jon's sudden authority and call for respect cracked and crumbled, but just a little. His hands were still knotted in the dirty fabric of Rick's shirt, half-pulling the man towards him as he spoke- with a little dignified cough, Jon let go of his brother-in-law and wiped his hands absently on his chest, as was his habit when the situation was getting awkward.

"Eh, sorry. The point. Right. Well… I think we should… let her live."

Rick's head tilted to the side dangerously slowly.

"And what," he snarled, poking a harsh finger at Jon's chest, "What in God's name makes you think that?"

"Well, for starters she's badly wounded so she's no real threat- and secondly her entire army was decimated and her plan went haywire, for lack of stronger words, and she's bound to have lost the trust of any surviving forces she might still own," His words came in one big rush, as if he was afraid that Rick might try to stop him again. He was staring quite defiantly at the taller man, nodding as he spoke so as to give it all a sense of credibility, his hands on his hips and his brow furrowed in an expression of pure seriousness. His stance vaguely made Alex want to laugh, but this was not the moment- he couldn't possibly perturb his uncle's moment of illumination, now could he?

"So she's not dangerous, and she's lost everything, and…"

"And she's got two feminine appendages on her front which makes you hesitate, is that it?"

"For Christ's sake, _no_!" A rather womanly wave of the hand to dismiss this. "_God_, when will you people ever take me seriously? I say leave the bloody woman alone, she's suffered enough already without getting a Rick Spécial – a dang bullet in the ass!"

Forgetting the depth of crap in which they were currently wading, Rick snorted out loud at this and waved over at Izzy, who was only just waking up thanks to the racket that the two grown men were making.

"Hey Izzy! What d'you think? 'Fly low for the pick-up and get your friend shot in the ass' take 2?"

"Uhn?" was Izzy's unintelligible answer; but Rick had already turned around and bent down to retrieve his gun before it slid between the bars of the railing and fell down to the burning sands below. He took the opportunity to check Leeu out from this angle- they were high above her, but they could still see the vague features of her face as she glared up at them, an arm wound tightly around her stomach and her mouth hanging open as she panted. Cursing, she gathered her horse's reins up and kicked it into a swift canter, doubling over as the animal's rhythmic strides made her body and hips respond in an agonizing fashion- bravely, she clung to the reins and tried to look on, hunched as she was with her feet dangling by the empty stirrups and her head bobbing with each new extent of the horse's willowy legs.

"Hey! She's going faster than us! What kind of shit is this, Izzy? We're getting overtaken by a dying woman on a damn horse!" Rick shouted as he watched Leeu speeding off, the horse's hind legs lifting graceful whorls of sand in its wake.

"There you go. Now you can't kill her," Jon interjected triumphantly, squinting at the woman as she escaped towards the Medjai camp.

"One thing _I_ wanna know," Rick grunted as he straightened up again, slipping his gun back into its respective holster as he finally decided against his vengeful fantasies, "How does she even know where the Medjai camp is? The Medjai themselves hardly know where they'll be staying, when they decide to migrate."

"Who knows?" Jonathan shrugged, folding his arms and leaning against the railing to contemplate the magnificent sights before him. His mouth hung open as he observed the way the wind whipped up evanescent waves of sand, dragging them across the dunes like vanishing caresses before letting them collapse again.

"C'mon," Rick said softly, sighing as he stepped over to his son, "Time to get you some breakfast."

The young boy's eyes brightened. "Porridge?"

"_No_, you damn British slop, I mean the same breakfast as me and your uncle. You're not getting any specials just because you're a junior." He gathered his son up under his armpit and carried him rather unceremoniously like a barrel up to the billowing tent flaps.

"But I don't want brandy for breakfast! Dad! _Uncle Jon_! Help me!"

"Your sister's spoilt him, looks like," Rick called gruffly over his shoulder as he disappeared into the tent.

"Better spoilt than alcoholic at ten, I'll say," Jon called back absently, still staring out at the drifting clouds of sand that Leeu's horse had left behind. _Alright, Evy… just a few days and you're ours again._

He'd always wanted to see the fabled Medjai camp that Ardeth had enigmatically told him about. Tents with luxurious carpets and oriental oil lamps and beautiful black-eyed women hidden in swirls of dark fabric, whispering secrets behind Henna-patterned hands… men who knew the exact history of their ancestors, and who were still willing to fight for ancient causes… deep loyalty, deep philosophies. So mysterious and _captivating_. His hands curled tighter around the rusty railing, and he somehow managed to feel a sparkle of excitement at the thought that they'd finally be discovering Ardeth's home… or if that's what they could call it.

Only, he hoped Evy wouldn't get too used to the Medjai lifestyle during the days that it took for them to reach her. He knew she had always been fatally attracted to what was infinitely different to the English culture, and he knew she'd always loved the old Arabic tales… as a librarian, how could she have ever left those famous tales aside?

He hoped they wouldn't fight to get her to come back home. He hoped. He hoped… he wished… that Evy was still Evy. Their Evy. _His_ Evy.

**xxx**

It was… a corridor.

There were ghastly movements all around, as if she was wading through an invisible current, her hand on the wall and her features getting lost in the white spiral of what she guessed was some kind of river of souls. They were all rushing to the end of the corridor, never pausing to think on their death, on their decision, on their will to be reborn to continue the endless cycle… just rushing on, without eyes to see or hearts to feel.

But she recoiled. She knew she would soon be joining the river. She knew she had to rejoin with someone, at the end of the corridor. She knew… and she had one last mission to accomplish.

"Evelyn," her ghost lips uttered, and she looked around herself, stepping out of the white current and pressing herself against the wall. Her mind was already starting to erode- her memories were escaping, joining the current like drifting white specks, ripped from her forehead like dust. Her hands, as she looked down at them, were starting to fleck away, too, as though she was made of white sand… but she struggled to stay conscious in this insubstantial place- she willed her soul to stay intact, to stay her, to stay queen.

She had to find her alter ego.

"_Evelyn_," she whispered again, giving the name substance, giving it truth- she looked around desperately, trying to see, trying to keep her eyesight- she could feel nothing, but she knew she only had a few moments before the current would inevitably take her. She was already going against the laws of this place by staying intact- and now she wondered what kind of will one must have in order to stay intact as long as Evelyn had.

Because she was there. The infamous British librarian, sitting there with her back against the wall and her arms around her knees, flecking away slowly, but still fullyherself.

Her head was up. Her eyes were white like the rest of her being, but Nefertiri knew they were both looking at one another, and that that mutual understanding was at work for the last time, precious and efficient as it was.

The queen stepped up to her alter-ego, albeit with much difficulty, and she somehow willed herself to smile. She didn't quite know how they were both communicating- how they _could_- their minds were eroding and they were bodiless and death was just a curve in the corridor away- but they were still here, their gazes locked, understanding each other. She tried to send a message in her collapsing mind, however hopeless her attempt seemed- _I am here to die, as I should have, a long time ago. You have to live. Go against the current… the way is open. _

She outstretched a band of white light that she guessed had once been her arm- but then there seemed to be some kind of burst of wind, and it simply blew away as dust, joining the current, joining the white river. She could feel the pull on her being, the pull of the current… there was no time.

_Come… _Someone else was calling to her… and she knew full well who it was, who had been waiting for her here for centuries upon centuries. Her chest swelled as it too started to be swept away, and she looked at Evelyn desperately, willing her to get up, willing her to go.

_He is waiting for you._

They exchanged one last gaze… one last affectionate smile.

And then Nefertiri was gone.

She joined the river as it raced towards the Afterlife, bursting out of the corridor and through the lush reed fields that had once only seeded in her imagination… but here, it wasn't papyrus reeds that spread their roots. It looked like… people, enclosed in the shining green stems of the healthy plants, growing as they grew, feeding upon the brew of recycled dead that was the white river.

_Souls being reborn._

She would never have guessed it would be like this… strange, strange world. So she would be with Tia in immortality, after all… they would both live inside of a new person, a new being, two pieces of the puzzle that would constitute this new, young soul. The thought would've warmed her heart, if she still had one.

But her last thought was for Evelyn, before her mind collapsed completely- Evelyn, who had gotten to her insubstantial feet and struggled against the current to get back to the mortal world- Evelyn, who was voicelessly screaming with effort as she got to the beginning of the corridor- the way through which each dying person went- _she was not dead, she didn't belong here- let me out- LET ME OUT-_

…_Let me out, let me out…_

She was falling. Flying. Drifting.

…_am I still alive?_

**xxx**

Voices.

Wetness on her cheeks.

She was lying on her back, arms by her sides, head on three plushy pillows that smelt of earth and incense cakes and rusty coins. What was this peculiar place…? And this sense of smell! This feel of cotton on her skin, covering her up to her breasts- the sharp sensation of her icy toes knocking together and springing apart just as suddenly, shocked by the coldness of her limbs.

She could smell honey on the air, or some other rich sugary scent- she could hear the clinking of jewellery, the fluttering of ghostly fabric, the gentle whispers in a tongue that was not hers. Where was she? And oh, by the Gods, she wanted more of this- more this _awareness_, this substantial feeling- that she had a body, that she had a nose and eyes and hands to feel, and ears to hear, and every pore of her skin seemed to yearn for something to touch, something to devour- simple tears sliding down her cheeks almost felt like the Nile rushing against her face, like all those years ago when she'd disturbed the Gods' rest, as was in her habit…

Memories came swirling to her like gypsies in colourful robes, taunting her, embracing her, welcoming her back. And she was pulled back fully into this new consciousness, back, _back_- greeted by the old sensations, the old emotions, the old stories that had made up her existence…

It was like her own voice that she had yet to utter, speaking in the back of her mind. _I'm back?_

But was she? This explosion of feeling, the cotton on the backs of her hands, the flimsy fabric holding her breasts together, brushing against her décolleté with each heave of breath- she wanted to bury her fingers deep into the sand that she knew she rested on, feel the grains skimming past her fingers, feel the warm weight pooling on her palm…

She wanted to open her eyes.

And then there was a voice near her, an overwhelming sense of being overshadowed, and she was very much aware that two Arabic women had sat down at her sides on the carpets that apparently covered the sandy floors- they spoke in hushed voices, that melodious language rolling effortlessly from their tongues as they seemingly debated her current state.

_I'm alive!_ She wanted to scream to the world, scream till her throat was deliciously raw and her cheeks red and her nails digging into her palms to eventually draw blood- what would it be like, to feel pain, with this new dazzling sense of _being_? She almost wanted to pinch herself, to plant pins into her skin or scrape her bitten nails across herself- just to feel the blood rising to the skin, to feel the sting, the hurt, the prickle of mindless tears- the primitive sense of existing, of drawing from the body the most ecstatic and strong sensations just to see, just to satiate this damning curiosity, this _need_.

She opened her eyes. Wide. Staring.

The air didn't even bother her, nor the light- she couldn't get enough of the whirls and contrasts of colour and colour and shape and contour and gods, she felt dizzy. The tent that she was in was closed to the world, lit only by luxurious little oil lamps that had been deposited on squat little tables, carpets with scarlet and silver and goldthread patterns and incense burning, sending dancing specters of smoke into the air, coiling and interlacing and forming some sort of haze in the tent itself, so that the atmosphere was heavy with scent and heat and everything had that rich glimmer of gold, gold, _gold_-

And, the two women who were at her side. It seemed that they were nurses of some sort-there were two more ochre sheets draped over human forms at either side of her own makeshift bed. One of them was groaning softly in their sleep. But Evy's attention returned to the two women- them and their secretive shawls that they pulled over their lower faces, so that only those penetrating eyes and the sweeping elegant brow that arched over them could be seen- thick strands of rich black hair tumbled from their overhead scarves, touching her face, letting her capture that faint earthy smell that was tainted with a sweet, oily fragrance… she stared and stared at those black eyes, how they mirrored her pale face, how they narrowed in concern as their owners realized that this was no comatose reflex, that their patient was truly conscious.  
_Conscious_. What a glorious word it was.

She almost shivered in something close to wantonness as one of the women laid a burning palm against the papery skin of her cheek to feel her temperature, trailing her hand down Evy's face to then touch her neck. She needed sensation, _craved_ it, like some lowly alcoholic would yearn for a drop of his favourite wine after long, agonizing hours of privation.

And was there not someone in this camp who could… who might understand this desire… who might even let her yield to it…?

_What am I thinking? What- what is this?_

There was no need to think. In one raw moment of simple charnel _need_, she'd curled her fingers around the hand of the Arabic woman who'd touched her face, pressing the palm against her cheek so that the soft skin covered her gaunt cheekbone, filling her with pleasurable warmth. If she had completely abandoned herself to this state of mindlessness, she would've leapt up and gathered the woman into her arms to see how much of the woman she could press against herself, how much contact she could establish, how much flesh she could reach-

But, she was a civilized person, was she not? She was reasonable, perfectly reasonable. She had her morals. And hell, she knew that she was heterosexual if anything, for God's sake.

While this inward struggle for sanity kept her occupied, the Arabic women shared a rather confused glance before looking down at their strange patient again, the one with the captured hand gently easing her palm out of Evy's fingers and whispering to her companion.

The next few moments passed in a timeless haze. Evy felt herself lifted, damp cloths pressed to her arms and face and loins, her hair raked out till it was long and undulating and shimmering like molten copper in the lamp light. The women took off her night clothes and whilst one of them rummaged in one of the chests that were in one corner of the small tent, the other absently massaged Evy's shoulders- they had propped her into a sitting position, always gentle and slow and letting her take her time. But they didn't know what torture it was for Evy to feel those velvet hands against her bare skin- the flood of contact and heat and, _gods_, if she didn't satiate this need to feel pain or something akin to it to truly feel alive and thrive in this new acquirement of a good strong body, she was going to break down or something.

So, in order to keep herself contained (which was a huge feat) Evy let herself be handled, docilely standing when they urged her to, lifting her arms for them to dress her in a simple black robe. Then she sat again, cross-legged on the crumpled covers, and the two women sat down with her, passing to her plump pastries that had probably come from one of the chests. This was the infirmary, she guessed- there was everything in those wooden chests. And she turned the round pastry in her fingers, saliva rushing to her mouth, but all the while apprehending the burst of taste that a single bite would procure.  
She didn't want food. She didn't want this pleasure. She wanted something else entirely… her eyes lingered on the golden ring that clung to one of her fingers, her attention completely abandoning the little savoury pastry that she loosely held.

The two Arabic women were conversing amongst themselves, peeling off chunks of their pastry as they spoke and lowering their shawls to push the chunks between their fleshy lips. There was a certain intimacy in this moment- seeing their faces, the beautiful features that they kept hidden from the world each passing day. But Evy didn't dwell on the voluptuous beauty that these women withheld- she was impatient, and she couldn't bear the gathering heat in her lower body- why was she reacting like this? She'd never been so needy for human contact… she stared at the soft glow of her ring, wondering, wondering if she'd ever missed her husband's contact so strongly. And she was almost dizzied by the fact that, no, she'd never missed his _contact_ quite like this… she'd missed _him_, oh yes, terribly so- but it was not his body that she wished to snuggle against, it wasn't his lips that she so yearned to taste.

She didn't understand why her body was reacting like this, why she needed this. But it was so strong that she didn't even think to question it. She'd _die_ if she didn't get out of this tent, out of this stuffiness, if she didn't feel the nocturnal wind whipping her face and the soft beams moonlight caressing her- and that wasn't the only thing she wanted to feel against her skin…

Gone was the prude librarian who had hardly ever sought to seduce a man, thinking it much wiser to lay eyes on a good thick book than on anything that a man might own that he might qualify as 'good and thick'- it used to disgust her, the mere thought of sharing an impossibly intimate moment with a man, a _man_, as crude and loud and obnoxious as they all were- that she might partake in some animalistic act of pleasure had always been _lightwaves_ from her understanding. But, with Rick, she'd come to understand that there might be some kind of beauty in it all… some kind of pleasure to be had. She'd lost some of her innocence, some of her naiveté. But some had remained, nevertheless.

Now, her so-called 'innocence and naiveté' was somewhere way away, rotting along with the remains of what she'd once believed, of what she'd once _been_.  
Now that she had a body once again, however odd that may sound, she felt as though she had to scrape together the remnants of what everyone recognized as Evelyn Carnavon and try to forge her personality once again. She felt almost tender and raw inside; fragile.

She didn't know. She was only doing… _what she desperately wanted to do_.

Hadn't it all been that, ever since she'd surrendered herself to Nefertiri? Hadn't it all just been selfish desire? But when she thought on it, it wasn't completely selfish… she hadn't been the only one who wanted escape. She hadn't been the only one to suffer this entire ordeal.

_Oh, Ardeth,_ her mind's voice seemed to weep, _see what you've made me into…_

She had to see him.

The silent stares of the Arabic women jolted her out of her reverie, and she realized she had been picking apart her pastry without even eating it, consumed by her raging thoughts. She stared back at the two beautiful women, willing them to notice that needy look in her eyes, willing them to let her go out there into the night.

Perhaps they really did understand, as this silent communication wore on. One of them smiled, licking the crumbs from her fingers and making the other giggle softly. In that moment, Evy felt almost drawn into their circle of intimacy, and she offered them a tired smile, endlessly grateful to them, in the end. She supposed that Ardeth had arrived at the camp and been taken care of, too… though, seeing as he was the leader of this tribe, they must've been expecting him to take things back in hand as soon as possible. He'd been required to recover as quickly as possible, which meant that he had probably told these nurses as much as he could to ensure Evy's recovery, before taking things in hand again.

Which meant… that he was probably in his personal tent, sleeping away the constant exhaustion that he was not yet freed of. Poor man.

"He… to wait for you," one of the women suddenly said, whilst the other carried on giggling, covering her mouth with a delicate gesture of the hand. Evy raised her eyebrows- had she truly made her intentions so clear? Or perhaps… perhaps Ardeth had told them to send her to him as soon as she awoke… no, that was too much. She couldn't start _flattering_ herself, now.

Unsure of how to proceed, and wanting more than anything to start moving, she bowed down before the two women and touched her forehead to the ground, setting aside her pastry.

"Thank you," she whispered, not wanting to disturb the two other patients' sleep. Ignoring the two women's shocked expressions (they were probably not used to this kind of gesture), Evy got to her feet, albeit quite clumsily, clutching her robe to herself, and marched to the tent flaps, stepping out into the night air.

The sand was soft and thick like flour, and she relished each footstep she took, deliberately letting her feet sink deeper into it, padding across the sandy street towards what she could assume was the tribe leader's tent. It was a bit more imposing than the others, and the tent flaps were illuminated by the full moon high above them, bearing a silvery grey hue. The sand itself was white, as was the horizon- which made the night sky seem ever blacker, the contrast ever more beautiful. And Evy was furious that she hadn't been granted 360 degree vision at birth- she hungrily lapped up all these wonderful sights; the sand dunes rising behind the village, the huddle of grey tents, the play of moonlight on the fur of some sleek dogs, slumbering before the tent flaps of their masters, their long snouts resting on their crossed paws. The tents were all spaced out, and horses wandered freely among them, most of them standing there immobile with their heads drooping lazily as they slept, their colours drained by the moonlight so that they all resembled wayward ghosts.

Her heart was pounding with the beauty of it all. She spun around and around herself, her arms out to feel the wind she created, shivering as her hair brushed against her collarbone and lower back, her feet disturbing the sand and her hands slapping the cool air and her cheeks reddened by the difference in temperature. And she felt her heartbeat double as she approached the closed flaps of Ardeth's tent, knowing what was beyond those sturdy lengths of fabric, knowing full well what her intentions were. But she wasn't ashamed, not at all… just, a bit intimidated. She hadn't thought herself capable of this… shaking her head, she tried to collect herself before she fell apart and slid her forearm between the tent flaps, parting them, and slipped into the tent.

A table stood in the centre of the tent, with a candle that was almost spent and scrolls upon scrolls cluttering there on the wooden surface, some of them open, others half-shut, and some even had splatters of blood on their paper flanks. She shuddered as she realized just how different this culture was… no carriages or trains to safely carry a message. Just a wide expanse of desert where roamed the most dangerous of rogue creatures, be they human or not. There were carpets on the floor, sheets of fabric hanging down from the ceiling to veil the walls, dyed with rich colours and patterns with a few scrawled Arabic words in that elegant script. And, on her left hand side, in a plush bed of cushions and sweet-smelling cotton… there he was.

He was lying there, his face averted, his hands behind his head. His torso exposed, curls of raven hair brushing his shoulders, tumbling over his collarbones.

Enrapt by the way the candlelight made the curve of his cheek glow, made his closed eyelids almost purple, threw dark shadows over the contours of his lips… she crept over to him, gazing at him almost longingly, like a child behind a glass screen at some much-desired object. She was already bent over because of the tent's low roof, and the black covers that twisted around Ardeth's legs looked mighty inviting… _oh,_ _to hell with it_. She let herself soundlessly drop to her knees, straddling his hips, her eyelashes hooding her eyes and the flicker of the disturbed torchlight casting obscurity over the top half of her face. The texture of his skin, the honey tones of his tattooed cheeks, the way his lips were slightly parted as he peacefully basked in a dream… his nose straight as a blade, his hair harbouring an almost crimson luster in the soft light. Everything was so sharp, so clear, so… _beautiful_. She absorbed the slight shifting of his hips, watching him as he slept on, and then the child that had wanted to stretch out a hand and touch the feet of the great statues of Rameses called out to her again, called out for her to touch him, to ravage that perfect skin, to bury her fingers in those smooth lengths of ebony hair, to feel the dampness that shimmered on those lips smudged over her own- she was greedy, she knew that, but she wanted to _know_ all these fantastic sensations, she wanted to feel all there was to feel, the deluding ecstasy of these things that humans call _senses_ – she wanted to savour how everything had become deliciously amplified, she wanted to try everything. Everything. Sight, she was filling her eyes with that. Hearing… what could she hear? The wind gently murmuring against the sides of the tents, some children whimpering in their sleep in the tent next door, and maybe even a few horses snorting. And, of course, Ardeth's gentle breathing, the steady exhalations as he turned his head a little more to the side, unconsciously nuzzling the crook of his arm.

And what of the smell? There was that tinge of incense, and the dry scent of the desert and its nightly ice. And there was also that ungodly scent that was just indescribably _him_- musky and masculine and magnificent, melding quite nicely with the incense-ridden air.

Two senses left that she hadn't yet explored… and she still looked down at him as he slept, wondering, thinking on what she was doing, what she was about to do- what she _wanted_ to do.

Technically, she was still married. She still had a son and a husband and a family.  
Technically, she still belonged to the real world. She had a rational mind. She was pretty down-to-earth… well, she had faith in a good many things that some might think completely untrue, but that didn't count.  
Technically… if she was the Evelyn she had been before all of this started, she would get to her feet, step out of his tent, and run back to the safety of the infirmary, where the two nurses would surely mock her fondly.

Except, a lot of things had happened. And she sure as hell wasn't the same Evelyn as before.  
No, the Evelyn she'd been had contented herself with a normal husband, a normal house, and normal relationships. She was British, she had tea and muffins for breakfast, she sent her son to school and she explored ancient Egyptian tombs with her normal American husband whenever the occasion to go to Egypt presented itself. The only extravagance she'd ever asked for was the Egyptian myths that she'd always chased. She'd never asked for extravagant relationships- she'd never asked to meet extravagant people.

But extravagance, she'd come to realize, brought about such _intrigue_… she contemplated Ardeth's tranquil face, knowing that their 'past history' was out of here by now- even though there was always this faint, faint nostalgia whenever she lulled herself with the sight of him. Here was the man for whom she'd died, eons ago. Here was the man who made her discover so many things, feelings, worlds… Here was the mysterious fellow who had watched her from the corner of his eye for so long, had she only had the curiosity to notice.

It was extravagance. It was perfect. She didn't feel like being a normal person any more, after all this time… why should she? Why should she bow down to the protocol of having a single husband, of accepting to love only one person in only one way? This was so different… so _exciting_. She couldn't just stop here, and revert back to the old prude librarian; it was ridiculous to just think it.

So she just gave in. Her fingertips were burning her, anyway… she reached forward, her hands pale and delicate next to the hardness of his features- she was trembling as her fingers neared his face, and then she tilted her head to the side somewhat shyly as her fingers slid over his cheekbone, her palm coming down to rest against his cheek. She dug her fingernails into the hair just above his ear, feeling the rough texture of his skin against hers as she swept her hand downward, slowly, flipping over her hand to trail the backs of her fingers on the sensitive skin near his mouth… nearly there… her fingers were almost brushing his lips when-

She gasped.  
His eyes were open. He was staring at her from the corner of his eye, his face still averted, much like some untrusting person who knew they were about to get raped or something; she wasn't sure if she was too fond of his expression… her fingers curled back into her palm, and she made to take away her hand from his face as if she'd profaned his intimacy somehow. Somehow! Well, she _had_ entered his personal tent in the middle of the night and straddled his hips while he wasn't looking, so… she had indeed pervaded his intimacy, _that_ was certain. But still, that sideways glance… she felt her cheeks flush despite herself.

Shakily, she smiled into the silence, looking down at him with something that seemed to be apprehensive affection.

He turned his head so that he was no longer looking at her sideways, and then he made to get up on his elbows but she leaned forward without warning, dropping her hands heavily to sustain her at either side of his head, her palms sinking in the cushions on which he'd previously laid his head.

"Don't make a sound," she whispered with a touch of devilish amusement in her low tone of voice. He simply stared, thoughtfully, completely ensorcelled by her antics as he let his head tilt back and drop onto the cushions again, his free hands awkwardly hanging in the air- but she was leaning over him, chocolate curls of hair tumbling down like two curtains at either side of her face to come and tickle his neck, and her hips were positively grinding against his own; in this kind of position, he could see nowhere else to put his hands than on that slim waist that hid beneath the flimsy linen night robe she was wearing.

"You're a disgrace," he whispered huskily, completely ignoring her threat, his eyes glittering as he watched her hovering above him like some undecided little satyr. "Didn't the women tell you to wear something on your head? Look at all that hair…"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Evy smiled down at him, relishing the secure feeling of his palms against the curves of her waist, shy though his touch was.

"It's getting in my mouth," Ardeth complained, blowing at her thick strands of hair that bobbed near his face, twisting and shining like unbraided sailor's ropes. Scowling in mock annoyance, Evy caught her hair with one hand and coiled it into a vague cord, stuffing it back behind her head before slapping her hand down next to his head again, perhaps a little violently.

She stared down at him from beneath long inky eyelashes, veiling her intentions from him with the cape of shadow that the candlelight offered her. He returned her stare, silent, wondering. Letting his eyes rest for a few seconds on that deep black curve that he could guess was her mouth in the dark, he let a soft sigh pass through his lips.

"What are you doing here, Evelyn?" He gave a chuckle, covering up the urgency of his question by the sudden realization of how they were currently positioned. "Why this aggressive stance?"

Shifting her hips a little, Evy repressed a smile and bent even lower over him, sliding her hands forward so that she was leaning on her elbows, her face hovering above his at an inadmissibly close distance.

"Well… I'm in this extraordinary place, with this extraordinary man whom I've never really cared for in the past," she admitted with a sly giggle marring her words, "…I want this moment, Ardeth. I want to savour it all, piece by piece, sensation by sensation." She tilted her head to the side again, rebellious strands of hair falling into her eyes, brushing the side of his nose. "You wouldn't want us to play innocent, each in our little dark corner on this lovely night?"  
"I wouldn't want _you_ to forget that you-" He took his right hand from her waist and bent his arm so that his hand came up to close around her bicep, her pale flesh yielding beneath the gentle pressure of his fingers. "-are married to an American, and in the Occidental culture it isn't deemed as _legal_ for a married woman to bed whomever she pleases."

"Oh, come on, Ardeth…" Evy whispered, her voice somewhat disappointed, or impatient, he couldn't quite tell. But he laughed into the darkness, knowing that he himself didn't even really want to acknowledge what he was saying, and knowing that he would rather she stay here in this comfortable position in the gentle candlelight, warming him, tainting the atmosphere with her discreet fragrance. Right now, he couldn't quite care less of what the protocols were, or of who they were both cheating- as long as their minds were their own, and they fully knew what they wanted, well, was there a more perfect truth than that?

"You're going to tell me that no harm ever came from doing illegal things?"

Evy almost hit him, though the rather languorous movement she made out of mock anger brought their faces even closer, her bosom heaving steadily against his chest. He tried to steady himself- tried to freeze his arms in their current position to stop them from crushing her against him, that impish little creature who seemed to know exactly how to make herself desired, however excessive those efforts were (not many women actually went through the whole soul travel thing to get a man to crumble to his knees before her, after all). Instead, he decided to give her the same slow, agonizing treatment… he absently let his fingers trail lazily across the skin of her arm, brushing her shoulder, coming down to the crook of her arm where he could tease that snowy patch of oversensitive skin, drawing a rather comical frustrated expression from her and she too tried to restrain herself.

"No, I mean… why stop at a single experience? There's no fun in letting life flow without intervening here and there… and besides," Here she poked at the gap between his collarbones, a wolfish smile spreading on her lips, giving her an almost demonic aspect in the fire lit atmosphere. "Life is too short for _regrets_."

Ardeth should've reproached her that expression, he should've told her to respect that woman that he'd come to greatly admire, if he couldn't say _love_… but, following that path of thought, he also should've pushed her off of him as soon as he woke up, he should've reproached her for ever wanting him in the first place.

But neither of them was complaining. And it wasn't his fault if he thought that sardonic grin that his lips curled into felt positively _divine_.

"What a little devil you are," he muttered, taking the liberty of reaching up to run his hands down the incurved length of her back, the linen snagging between his fingers as he groped for the burning heat that her skin generated beneath all that inappropriate clothing.

"I thought I told you not to make a sound?" She was edging closer as the seconds bled idly into one another, her stomach flattening against his own, her eyelashes grazing his cheeks as she bent her head, her eyes on the shadow that she was dragging over the cracked rosy skin of his lips.

"Forgive me if I can't help myself," Ardeth breathed, feeling the awkward, asymmetrical bump of her heart against his, "It's not every day that married women take advantage of me in the darkness of a desert night."

"Shush," Evelyn couldn't repress a smile despite her efforts to stay serious, resulting in her smiling against Ardeth's lips, which felt a little strange to say the least. Hesitantly she let the corners of her lips drop, her mouth slightly open and hovering just above his- it was like a question, an invitation. She waited, though not completely frozen- she practically had to tell herself not to shy from his hands as they roamed over her hips and waist before coming to the jutting out bones of her ribcage, though not daring to go any higher, the linen night robe serving as a barrier between the callous skin of his hands and her pale, bruise-ridden complexion.

Now it was his turn to smile. He tried to catch her lips, knowing full well that she'd been bluffing as she jerked her head up to avoid his kiss, playfully keeping herself only just out of his reach.

He could feel her heart leaping against his chest as she peeked down at him through her thick eyelashes, closing her thighs tighter around his hips, her eyes almost glazed…

…_it's…_

He'd wrapped an arm around her shoulders, reaching up so that she couldn't escape him again, and he'd stolen a kiss from her, tasting her lips for the briefest of moments.

…_beyond_…

And then she'd closed her eyes, stiffened as the deliciously dry feel of his lips sent a jolt of sensation through her, and ducked her head to meet his lips again, molding her mouth to his, the humidity and scorching heat making her almost squirm in his grip- he was holding her against him, and she had her fingers on his neck-

…_my_…

They broke their kiss and she gave a sigh of disappointment, but then he'd ripped off one of her sleeves, baring her shoulder and pushing back the fabric, pressing his palm to her shoulder-blade and lifting his head to press his lips to the sensitive skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder- she shivered with delight, and she could hardly bear that pulsating ache between her legs, languorously shifting in his grip, holding him all to herself and taking in a deep breath-

…_control…_

And he'd opened his mouth, letting a moist heat cover her skin, and his teeth were sinking into the stiff muscles of her shoulder, and she broke off her inhalation with a sharp cry of delight, cringing and letting him bring her down onto the cushions so that he could dominate her, so to speak, looming over her and pausing to take in her fragile beauty, the paleness of her skin and the contrast that her dark scarlet lips made as she gnawed on her lower lip, evidently restraining herself from panting- her hands were beside her face, and he curled his fingers around her wrists as if to lock her in place as he bent to ravage her mouth again in an almost brutal kiss, lips and teeth and tongues coming into heated union-

…_beyond…_

She was squirming beneath him, her legs closing around his hips, wrists rolling in his firm grip, trying to get loose though there was no real conviction- she averted her face, her mouth breaking from his whilst offering to him the white skin of her throat, and he trailed his open mouth down her flesh, a hand releasing her wrist to rip at her night robe again, baring her pale bosom and letting his tattooed fingers caress the extent of skin just above her breasts, then, softly, tease the sensitive valley between them…

…_all_…

The thought that there had only been a single man on this earth- or, more precisely, in this current age- who had contemplated this perfect body didn't even occur to the dark nomad as he paused in his eager movements, reaching up to take her wrist again and lowering his mouth to the delectable skin of her neck. This was their moment to behold… and suddenly Evy had summoned some kind of preternatural strength and gained dominance again, pushing him down on the cushions and straddling his hips with a renewed vigour, staring down at him with a fierce glow in her eyes.

…_control…_

"You know," she growled almost bestially as she shook her hair out of her eyes, "I _hate_ it when you do that." _Makes me feel like I'm agreeing to anything. _The thought dissolved as soon as it had intruded in her mind. _No. No time for memories._

He stared up at her, hardly even able to grasp any coherent thoughts as he let the savage urge to _take_ her completely possess him. His hands were loosely cupping her face, and she was smiling, a beautifully dignified white nude looming over him, almost glowing in the dark that the extinguished candle had plunged them into.

"When I take control?" he asked, though he did not care for any answer, lifting his chin to run his lips across her jaw line, softly, tauntingly. When he came to her ear, he whispered to her; "This is no game of dominance and submission, my love. Just…_let me._"

Her hands had ventured down to her hips, and she was getting rid of her cumbersome night robe, completely ripped up and ruined as it was- she kicked it off, before returning her attention to his flesh, his neck, his lips, his eyes, even- there was not one patch of skin that her lips hadn't tasted, and for a moment he just lay there letting her roam over his skin, closing his eyes to the darkness and savouring the knowledge that he had her, _completely_, just as she had him. And nothing, nothing could've broken the perfection of this single moment- they both knew that the reason this felt so deliciously precious was that it couldn't last. Or maybe they were both sharing this moment of sweet denial, and that ring on her finger simply didn't mean anything any more, and his knowledge that he was betrothed to a teenage girl of his tribe didn't matter either… he hadn't told her, she didn't need to know. And then her lips found his again, erasing all thought, and his hand ventured down to the most intimate part of her, and he'd swallowed her gasp of pleasure as she let herself fall to the side, making him turn to face her so that they were on equal grounds, their bodies entwined and their eyes lightly closed. No dominance, no control, just this perfect ecstasy- and then in one slow, languid thrust, he was inside her and she could no longer breath, her nails digging into his back and her mouth somewhere on his neck, eyes creasing and teeth biting down hard on her lip as a wave of molten fire ravaged her entire body till each undulation of his body against hers racked her with a sensation so close to the mindless thrill of pain that she almost clawed at him to bring him closer, closer- she whispered his name as if to keep to reality, running her fingers through his hair and nuzzling his throat and snuggling ever closer to him, his hands on her waist and his lips at her temple and his breaths brushing against her skin, their minds spinning, spinning-

…_beyond all control…_

He had her in his arms, absorbing the steady heave of her body against his, and it seemed everything was shattering into tiny whirling fragments- sensation, reality, consciousness- and, just as they ascended to the peak of this mindless ecstasy, he didn't even think to listen to whose name slipped between her trembling lips- and how could he possibly differentiate a name from a strangled cry of pleasure, after all, they weren't supposed to still know who they were, they weren't supposed to still know how to breath…

All the knowledge they had in the world was that their precious perfection subsisted, and they could've sold their souls for it all to last for an eternity… that being, if they hadn't already done so.

**xxx**

Jonathan awoke to the sound of an agonized cry; he was all snuggled up in his sleeping bag, and he almost rolled over and fell flat on his face as he looked wildly around himself. Alright, first, let's situate ourselves, Jonnie old boy- he was still in the tent on Izzy's dirigible. Right. That was good. And Rick was still sleeping soundly on the bench across from him- or, wait, 'soundly' wasn't exactly the case. The worried Brit leapt from his sleeping bag after waging an intense battle with the zipper that kept getting stuck at appropriate times, stepping precariously over the closed trap door and laying a hand on Rick's shoulder- the American had reeled up into a sitting position in his sleep, and now he was wide awake and panting, his eyes open and staring straight ahead of him, a hand on his heart.

Tears were streaming down his face, glittering like strings of jewels in the darkness. Jonathan frowned at the man, thinking to himself that this was the first time in all of history that he'd seen Rick weep so much- alright, so his fits came and went but Rick O'Connell was hardly the man to break down like this. It was getting a little scary now.

"Come on, Rick, you're not going to cry every damn time you think of my sister," Jon muttered would-be heartily, slapping Rick's shoulder in an affectionate manner. The American swallowed, closing his eyes before turning his head to gaze at his brother-in-law, crouching there with a fright-filled face and his pyjamas hanging loosely off his body, a bit like a small boy who would tug at their father's sleeve after a nightmare. Now, _that_ sight would've cheered up even the Grim Reaper on His many dreary quests. Except… it seemed the roles were reversed.

"What is it now?" Jon asked quietly after a pause, his palm never leaving Rick's heaving shoulder. The American let his eyes flutter closed again, absently rubbing at his chest with the hand that had previously clutched at his heart as if the sturdy little organ had almost managed to leap right out.

"I have no idea, Jon, I don't remember," Rick muttered, shaking his head and laying back down.

"Oh, sure. That's why your entire face is sopping wet," Jon counter-attacked, letting his palm slip from his brother's shoulder. "And that's also why your heart apparently _aches_," he added with a mock-dramatic voice.

"Be quiet, would you?" Rick shushed him absently, gesturing at the trap door under which the children still slept. Then he sighed, laying the back of his hand on his forehead. "I don't remember what it was I dreamt, but… man, did it hurt."

"_Oh_," Jon clapped a hand against his thigh, straightening to then plop back ontop of his sleeping bag. "So _that's_ what all this fuss is about? Christ. Next time, bear this in mind: just because I just recently stopped bouncing Alex on my knee whenever he was upset doesn't mean I have space on my lap for _you_."

Rick huffed.  
"Crazy old man," he muttered vaguely, or that's what Jon _thought_ he heard. Then, with a gruff "goodnight", each man snuggled deeper into their sleeping bag, shifted noisily so that they showed each other their backs, and each resumed their dreams.

But, Rick… he rubbed at that horribly sore spot in the centre of his chest, wondering, wondering if he should've remember what it was he'd dreamt of, and why his throat felt raw… and why the tears were drying on his cheeks. He shouldn't be soppy like this, gods damnit. He shouldn't be feeling this constant aching fear that Evy… no, he wasn't going to dwell on those kinds of thoughts, not if he wanted a few more hours of sleep. Sighing to himself and half-growling when Jon snorted unconsciously in his sleep, the infamous Yankee pulled the sleeping bag over his head and cleared his mind, thinking only of his wife's radiant face. Just the thought of her creased chocolate eyes and glistening smile as her lips formed the words "I do"… the memory was all he needed to lull himself to sleep.

Sense of false security, false hope. He knew full well it was a downward spiral… but they were only a night away from the Medji camp, now. The morning sun would rise and the first thing it would bless would be the embrace of two beings, separated for too long, and rejoicing in their reunion…

_At least, that's what he liked to think._


	22. Six hundred degrees Fahrenheit

**a&n:** Two months later! Still there, guys? I hope so. Well, here's to y'all who are still paying attention; it's almost over, thank _God_, and this is dedicated to Estora, wonderful author, wonderful friend, whose attention I clearly don't deserve but that I steal anyway. I hope the Mummy inspiration will eventually come back to ye, darling! And, of course, I'm eternally grateful to you if you're still reading this. Enjoy... this was particularly hard to write, so I hope I didn't make things overly sappy. And, well, if you feel like making a poor author's day, leave a review to mark your passing. :)  
**music:** _AaRON_ all the way, baby!

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter twenty two  
_Six hundred degrees Fahrenheit_  
**

**xxx**

_Dreamless._

She thought she would never even see the light of the new morning. She thought she would never have even _wanted_ to. Yet she was wide awake, and she knew that it was only a matter of time till the sweeping grey roof of this dark tent would start soaking up sunlight as though it were luminous ink, making the fabric glow and making spurts of light germinate, growing downward to tickle the sleepers' closed eyes.

She realized that the only thing that was in contact with her skin was a heavy bundle of carrot-coloured cotton sheets, and that her forearms were hidden beneath a sweet-smelling cushion, her limbs greased with cold sweat and her heart still trying desperately to recuperate its normal rhythm- something that had become almost alien to the poor thing, after all this time. After all this panic, this ecstasy, this pain, this… how did they call it? _Life_? _Madness_?

She inhaled the dusty smell of the cushion, closing her eyes, rubbing her thighs together as she brought her legs up to her chest, curling up like a fist. The covers caught between her arms, around her waist- it was probably the reason for Ardeth's sudden blunder into her peaceful little moment of silent recovery. She hadn't even realized that he was still there when his arm suddenly snatched at the covers, coming beneath them to grip her waist and brutally turn her around.

"Damnit, woman, you've been doing that all night," he growled as their faces came into such a close proximity that, however wide they strained their eyes, all they could distinguish was three eyes and a blurry open mouth. He was all groggy and tired, that much was obvious just by the sound of his voice- and Evy couldn't repress a smile as she snatched back her share of covers and shifted so that she was lying on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows and looking down at her hands in the lightening obscurity.

"Why is it that men always wake up _exhausted_ after a night with me?" she sighed, almost to herself, "I'm not even an ounce tired."

"Well neither am I," was Ardeth's stubborn reply as he spoke with his mouth against his cushion, his words muffled and almost incomprehensible, "so stop flattering yourself."

"Of course you're not tired," Evy said with a laugh, looking down at the nomad as he buried his face in his cushion, forearms buried beneath it and his entire back exposed, the cotton sheets wrapping around his lower body in a soft orange tangle. "We've only been through torture and death and making love, so why on earth _would_ you be?"

She heard him snort into his cushion, his shoulders quaking as he laughed without lifting his face.

"Ah, but there you are wrong," he muttered, lifting his face and, in one fluid motion, turning right around so that he was on his back, one hand behind his head and the other discarded on the cushion above it. His eyes were closed, his features smooth and tranquil in the darkness. "'Fear and exhaustion do not exist in the mind of a warrior; they are handicaps for the weak and those who prefer to justify their actions with comfortable, illusionary excuses. Only the body needs rest- and once the training is perfected, even it will not yearn for repose until the mission is carried out. So train vigorously, now…' What did that old fool tell say again? '…the only ones to whom you may admit your exhaustion is your coital partners, not your enemy- if there is a difference'?"

Evy laughed aloud, shifting so that she could fiddle with a wayward strand of his hair, letting the little black tendrils sift between her fingers.

"You're making that up."

"I am not," Ardeth retorted hotly, his eyes still closed, his head still in the same position- like he was too tired to even make the effort to look at her. "Part of the Medji code."

"It's all written somewhere, right?"

"Right," he mumbled.

"It was all preordained thousands of years ago?"

"Right," he mumbled again.

Evy scoffed, her fingers delicately tracing the curve of his closed eyelid.

"So Allah foresaw that you'd be as completely wasted after a night with Evelyn Carnavon as a petty first-timer, never mind all the body conditioning that you Medji mindlessly go through."

"Right," he mumbled for the third time, before understanding what she'd actually said and heaving himself upward, tackling her and ignoring her playful cry of protest as he flattened her on the cushions as though she was a long cylindrical cushion herself, his chest crushing her own and his face looming above her glittering inward smile.

"Weakling," she teased in a sing-song voice, though she was hardly in any position to insult him.

"It doesn't matter what I am," he breathed against her mouth huskily, though she didn't remember letting him get so close. "You'd still be enrapt by me if I was some honourless slave."

"_Honour_, he says!" Evy whispered, determined to prevail over the flush of heat that sprang to her cheeks, squirming beneath him half-heartedly and hardly even thinking of what it was she was saying.

Perhaps it was her mindless words that made him stiffen, and she felt his sudden recoil even as surreptitiously as it was- he slipped off of her, averting his face and getting back to his lying position on his back.

She almost slapped herself as she realized the implications behind her words.  
"Oh…" The curses bled away from her tongue as she looked over at him and saw that he was looking up at the shimmering pearl-grey of the tent roof, looking up at the morning that was slowly rising. His brow was ever so slightly creased, and that expression… Gods. What had she gone and done _now_? "I'm sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. Tch, oh, for God's sake." If she'd been an ostrich, her head would be so deep underground now that the top of her head would surely be touching China's basements.

Ardeth didn't breathe a word.

"…it's not an honourless thing, what we've done, Ardeth," she spoke in a hushed voice, trying to put her thoughts into words though she couldn't seem to express herself correctly any more, which was greatly aggravating. "Rick… my husband… I love him. I respect him. And this …this _interlude_… it's not like- like I've stopped loving him altogether, you know? Oh, drat," A hand flew to the bridge of her nose, "I can't express myself," she groaned, and then she let her face sink into her cushion, her hands on her cheeks and her arms folded together so tightly that she could feel her heartbeat in the crooks of her elbows.

"…How complicated," Ardeth spoke, to her relief, "So, tell me… do you regret all this?"

How could he be so calm and poised with such a question on his lips!? Evy almost had to reach down to tug her heart back up from where it had plunged as the words left his mouth.  
"Of course not!" she barked, her head reeling back up from the cushions with an abashed expression creasing her facial features as she looked down at him- his eyes were closed again, his thoughts hidden from her. He waited for her to go on. "Oh… it _is_ strange, wanting two men at once… but you're asking me if I regret doing what I wanted to do. What would be the point in doing something, if only to look back on it with scorn afterwards?"

She let the silence settle like a comfortable mist, both of them reflecting on what she'd said. It was such a silence that she was sure the entire camp was awake by now, what with the racket they were making- all of a sudden she felt a hot embarrassment at the thought that people in the tents around them had heard the noises that they made during their… 'interlude'. With Rick it was different- they always tried to keep it down, because of Alex. There was always an ounce of control in what they did, out of respect for their son. But… there had been no control whatsoever, tonight. And she wasn't going to start thinking about which was better… but she couldn't help it- her mind instantly started jumping to conclusions, as was its irritating habit. She groaned aloud.

"I know what the next question is," she muttered as she turned around heavily to lie on her back a little disgracefully.

"If it's 'that' question, then please, do not insult me by thinking I'd ever even consider asking you," Ardeth retorted almost instantly, meaning to soothe her bewildered mind. He knew that preferences weren't even relevant to what they were going through- this affair had nothing to do with jealousy or the sense of belonging to someone, the sense of being in possession of someone. The only thing that they were both in possession of was the moment they shared- not each other. He had realized that as he listened to her words; the perfection of knowing that there was nothing but her and himself in the entire world had lasted a few hours… and now reality was back, their minds with it. She had been his… and he hers… in some distant hallucination that they'd just awoken from. He knew that the dawn was rising… and with each passing second Izzy's dirigible drew closer, tongues of fire alimenting its great gas-filled belly as it floated towards them to take her back.

Did he dread that moment? Did he dread the morning?

Did he, even if he denied it, truly believe that she was his…?

_No. Never._

_And yet…_

That stark realization, that dizzying sense that he'd suddenly dropped something incredibly precious, that some distance had come between them without them noticing- it suddenly made him turn around and press her against his chest, winding his arms around her as though he wanted to meld their bodies together, mesh each atom together until nothing could possibly separate them again, save perhaps the genetic science of the twentieth century.

"I don't care who it is you feel more strongly for," he breathed into her ear, fiercely, as though he was trying to convince himself as well as her, "It is all different. You feel love for Rick. You feel something else entirely for me, and these two things can't possibly rival each other. I don't care who it is that you will run to when the morning comes… as long as I have this memory of you, the memory of these moments… I suppose you can tear apart my heart in as many pieces as you like- you will never manage to exorcise these memories from my mind. Nothing can break a memory, and nothing is as deliciously bittersweet. So run to whomever you like… love whomever you like. You've burned yourself into me; so don't feel torn when the morning comes. Rick has shared beautiful moments with you, and so have I. You are completely free to go to whomever you wish."

Had he convinced her, he wondered? Because he was far from convincing himself. He supposed this made it easier for her… to hear such words, to be free to choose. It wasn't all a lie… he was just trying to be charitable, after all this immorality. He had practically had to force each word out, trying to make his phrases fluid as he fought to believe in them as strongly as he wanted her to.

There was a cold wetness against his neck, where her face was buried. He hadn't realized just how tightly she was holding onto him- her elbows were at his waist, her hands on his shoulder blades, and they'd moved up to grip his shoulders, fingers pressing against the flesh, pressing deliciously into the taut muscles beneath.

"See, it was exceedingly stupid of you to say that," she whispered, chaining up her vocal chords to try and make her words flat and devoid of any stutter. "Firstly, because we were supposed to stop being sappy and heartfelt all the time. And secondly… how on Earth am I supposed to react to that? What am I supposed to say?"

"Something," he said, "Anything."

"What about, 'You can't expect me to go to Rick after saying that'? Maybe that's what you expected me to say. What you wanted to hear. Or how about, 'I'm sorry', again and again, because I just can't voice the fact that Rick is my husband and you didn't practice your speech enough to convince me to part with him, and Jonathan, and Alex, and my entire family, or-"

"Shh." He pressed his lips to her neck, and her stumbling flurry of words was cut short by the sudden contact, her eyes rolling beneath her closed eyelids as she tried to force her lungs to expand. Absent-mindedly she slipped her leg around his hip, holding more of him to herself, not caring if the heat was making her limbs sticky with sweat and her scant breaths were almost ragged in her efforts to stay calm.

"If you asked me, right now… I'd stay here, where it's comfortable, where it's hot, where there's beautiful people and beautiful sceneries and those 'beautiful moments' that you spoke of, to be had. But that's because the sun hasn't risen yet, and we're never quite ourselves in the minutes before we take our first step out of bed," she murmured into the crag between his collarbones, her nose like a cold little bump against his neck.

"So let's say you've uncoiled that leg from my hip, and that you've wrenched open the tent flap and taken a step out into the morning sun," Ardeth told her in a would-be playful tone; only to be pulled even closer to her, the slippery leg in question tightening stubbornly around his hip as she inhaled sharply in protest.

"Don't say that," Evy whispered, "Don't let's pretend to be otherwise than how we are now, because that's…"

"That's…?"

"That's cheating…"

"Oh?" The nomad's lips curled upwards, purple in the darkness, complimenting the aureoles of obscurity that cloaked each of his eyes. "I wouldn't use that word if I were you. It'd be abusing of it."

"Oh, please… enough words," Evelyn sighed, snuggling her face deeper into his chest, "Can't we just… stay like this for a bit longer…? We were fine when we weren't talking."

"You mean you were watching me sleep?"

Evy started.

"Of course not. I didn't even know you _existed_ when I woke up."

"Oh…"

He sounded almost relieved. Tracing abstract runes into the taut skin of his back by grinding the very tips of her fingers into his flesh, Evy tilted her head to the side, her lips almost touching his pulse point.

"Sounds like you were going to say 'Oh no, so we were both pretending to be unconscious then?'"

"I wasn't watching you sleep."

"Oho, of course you weren't."

"No, for your information I was busy trying to _scavenge_ some covers from you in order to get some warmth to sleep."

"Mighty warrior for God who can't sleep because he can't get his royal buttocks beneath some grimy cotton covers?"

She was laughing against his throat now, her bosom shaking against his chest, and for a millisecond his entire consciousness seemed bent on the simple, silken feeling of her soft breasts cushioned against his skin; his hand wandered down to the small of her back, tracing her spine all the way down, and he swallowed as discreetly as he could, trying to recall what they'd been bickering about.

"Perspiration isn't something I enjoy sleeping with, when it gets cold and starts clinging to the skin."

"Excuse me, but I slept against your back for the entire night and you were hotter than Alex's baby fevers," Evy muttered unintelligibly.

"Fascinating," Ardeth contemplated this albeit a little sardonically, "And what if I said you were as cold and slippery as a Nile salmon in bed?"

Evy snorted.

"I think I'd hit you and get out of bed and run away feeling humiliated."

"Well, seeing as you'd be running naked through a large desert camp full of Muslim men… to be frank I think humiliation would be quite appropriate."

"Oh, shush," Evy laughed groggily, and then as though they had obeyed her command, they lapsed into a hot and sticky silence, Evy holding onto the dark warrior for God like a stranded swimmer holds onto that lonely buoy in the heart of a wide, endless ocean. The sound of his low exhalations filled her ears, and she was holding her breath without meaning to, her pulse throbbing and her lips cracked open, and neither of them spoke for the next few minutes, simply lying there, simply existing in the same unprecedented moment of bliss.

"Tell me…" Evy said after what felt like another drop out of reality, "What did you think of… Nefertiri?"

She felt his chest expand as he inhaled, and closing her eyes she almost felt like he was breathing in little particles of herself.

"Gracious. Dignified. Very, very unique… that queen was unbelievably modern, and her mind went so deep that I was almost afraid to draw any feelings out of her." Ardeth pondered on her question for a small moment. "A bit like a well with the water at the very bottom- to get to it, you have to risk taking a long fall."

He felt her shift against him.

"Aw," she smiled, "How accurate. I would never have put it like that but…"

"She almost drew Tia out."

At that, Evy stiffened in alarm.

"You didn't…?"

"I didn't."

She let out a long, cold breath, making each one of his vertebrae bones shiver consecutively.

"You know… I met Tia."

A pause. "…What?"

"In the corridor… the corridor to the Afterlife. It's the second time I go there- last time I fought as hard as I could against the current, so this time I had more experience, I guess-"

Ardeth was chuckling.

"What?"  
"You're not making any sense," the nomad told her fondly. "But if I try to draw coherence out of your words, I'm guessing that you met his soul as it traveled on to its next destination?"

"Yeah… you could put it like that, I suppose."

"And what did you think of him?"

"I…" She blinked. Chewed on her thoughts. "Well, he was tall and handsome and completely _unlike_ his alter-ego even though technically you have the same bodies-"

"Now that," Ardeth said, still smiling broadly, "is a silly fabrication. I swear I could not have differentiated you and Nefertiri if you'd be standing side by side."

"Easy," Evy laughed, "I'm the one with the sagging breasts and frizzy hair."

"No… the only difference is the demons that inhabit each of you," Ardeth breathed, "They are of different breeds."

"Yes…" Evy's hand had wandered to his chest, though how or when he couldn't quite recall. "Hers like to rip apart pregnant women, whilst mine are hopelessly nymphomaniac. I wonder… which is truly more moral?"

"Ah, but you are forgetting that demons, like their feminine hosts, cannot coexist with moralities."

"It's simply impossible."

"Indeed."

"It's _destiny_."

"Mmh."

"You're no fun, Ardeth… you're such a moral man."

The moral man scoffed in astonishment. "I'm so moral that I'd be ready to shake a horse awake and haul you onto it to continue on our strange, headless journey."

There was a slight, bitter pause.

"Ardeth…"

Neither knew quite what to say to that.

"I think that… in reality, you're so immoral that you'd renounce to that," Evy whispered, her voice like a gulp of air, fingers folding into fists against his chest. She knew what he was going to say, and she was already trying to rack her brains for an appropriate answer… knowing full well that finding one would be simply impossible.

But he seemed to be saving his ominous question for later, even though both of them could feel its presence burning the tip of his tongue. He bent his head a little, breathed into her mouth, tasted the salt on the corner of her lips.

"Let us rise. I believe I heard your stomach groaning for one of our sweet pastries."

**xxx**

They were sitting in the sun in a friendly circle of half-naked men, bulging knots of muscles glistening like domes of gold in the midday sun, black eyes glittering from beneath dark hair, tattoos like extra eyes on each of their callous cheeks.

Eve tried as hard as she could to eat properly and balance the platters she had been offered on her knee, like every one else; she was, after all, the center of attention of at least a dozen young men who all looked rather_ smashing_, if she could allow herself the silly term, and thus she was trying excessively hard to act like the sort of person who would be deserving of Ardeth's… friendship. So, sure, it was a bit hard to be feminine and gracious when one is faced by the daunting task of eating a dripping rag of meat with naught but one's fingers, all the while balancing a plate of sauce on one knee… but she was trying her hardest. _Visibly_. She could hardly withstand the sight of Ardeth constantly restraining a burst of hysterical laughter whenever he shot her a sideways glance… if, of course, it was in his mental capacities to actually burst out laughing, which she had come to doubt.

They were all talking jovially of this and that, in Arabic of course, which she truly appreciated. (It meant she didn't have to act as intelligent as someone deserving Ardeth's friendship, too.) Sometimes one or two of them would stare at her unwaveringly for five entire minutes, before dropping her a smile and a phrase in mutilated English that Ardeth had probably tried to teach them, seeing as he _was _their leader, and it had to have come to his mind that even if they were nomads, they couldn't get away with simply continuing with their customs and traditions without being a bit open to the rest of the world, in this growing age.

Anyway, here she was, in a circle of Sahara nomads, trying to rip apart a piece of meat with as much elegance as possible, and trying to ignore the fact that everyone else had already finished the meat and were flicking fruits into gaps in their beards- alright, so they weren't all bearded, but the simple hairiness of some of the men practically shocked her. To be honest, she preferred those who were rather clean-shaven; but still, they all had this peculiar virility that made them handsome even if they didn't have perfect proportions and so on.

It seemed they had set up a little feast to celebrate their leader's comeback; a feast that had lasted several days, seeing as he'd been awake before her and she supposed they hadn't actually waited for her to wake up to get on with the festivities. They were in what she could qualify as the central square, maybe- it was quite large, a bit like an empty marketplace surrounded by flapping tents and stray horses, and there were musicians here, belly dancers there, stands with fruit and different foods set in random places in the sand. It didn't look like the totality of the tribe's population was here; some had business to attend to, probably, but most of the men over here were either sprawled out in groups laughing loudly or standing around, as were the women, though there was a considerably smaller number of those around. Most were serving dishes, their jeweled feet gliding soundlessly over the sand, paths traced over by their billowing skirts and scarves that sometimes trailed after them in the white dust.

At some point, it was simply obliged for Evy's fingers to slip as Ardeth made her laugh, and she did something quite disgusting with the meat she had in her mouth and between her fingers, and the entire circle of men that she was a part of burst out laughing simultaneously- it seemed they had all been waiting for her to trip in her excessively careful eating affair. She felt as though she could murder them all on the spot, cursing Ardeth and simply arousing their laughter like sprinkling oil on a raging fire, wishing there was a hole somewhere in the sand where she could bury her head. She almost chucked the straggly tress of meat that dangled between her fingers at their faces, furiously wiping the smudge of sauce on her cheek with the back of one hand, and her angry gestures added to the prude pink colour that had blossomed on her cheeks incited Ardeth to shuffle closer to her, putting an arm around her bobbing shoulders and taking the meat from her, his lips hitched up in a smirk whilst the other men elbowed each other and continued blabbering away in that damnably _incomprehensible_ language, so much so that Evy started feeling incredibly stupid and on a completely different wavelength to them all, even though technically they were all there, sitting and eating together… they should be understanding each other a _little_. Yet there they were, guffawing like ducks because she couldn't eat their food properly, for God's sake, and was it her _fault_ if they used their fingers like animals and she had been used to all the English finery since childhood- what would they do with silver forks if she armed them with proper, expensive _argenterie_, she wondered? Ha!

"Don't mind them," Ardeth muttered to her, smiling a little more understandingly than previously, and she suddenly loved him for being the only familiar person around, all that pride that she'd felt when being the only one capable of properly articulating an ancient language completely lost to her now that she was faced by this unusual barrier of language and culture.

But, then again, it seemed that she and Ardeth had a language and a culture all to themselves, however silly and childish that might sound. She stared at him, lashes lowered over her glowing eyes to protect them from the sunlight, and she obediently parted her lips as he poked at her mouth with a piece of meat between two fingers. Slowly, he slid the food between her lips, tips of his fingers brushing the moist inside of her mouth before retracting again, hovering near her lips so that she could lick the sauce from his skin.

Was it something that anyone who was betrothed to a 15-year-old could do out in the open? Ardeth had told her briefly about that after she'd probed him about how love 'worked', so to speak, in this culture, and now she wondered if this little game was truly as intimate to him as it was to her. She continued gazing at him even when his eyes broke away from hers to throw off a certain comment that a fellow Medjai had blurted at them, and it made her wonder what the other men thought… what the other men knew.

"Ardeth," she started as the man in question reached up to lay his fingers on a passing woman's forearm, leaning back slightly and lifting his face to her to ask for some of the fruit she was carrying, squinting in the blaring sunlight. Evy swallowed her words as she watched the two nomads interact, seeing this sort of contact between a man and a woman of this culture for the first time and suddenly extremely curious as to what was allowed and what wasn't in the world of touches and whispers and outer appearances. She watched, mute as the woman bent down slightly and offered them both some sticky fruit, her leaf-green eyes passing over Evy with an electrifying sense of anonymity and mystery. Perhaps she was smiling under that fluttering crimson scarf that hid her lower face- perhaps she'd been laughing softly with a feminine friend as they'd slid those golden bangles on her wrists, as they'd studded her forehead with sparkling gems and scraped her long curly lengths of hair into that shining braid that weighed against her back like an obsidian exoskeletal spine.

She stepped away, and Ardeth turned his attention back to Evy, handing her some fruit that she voicelessly accepted and asking her what it was that she had been wanting to say. She tore her gaze away from the mysterious, retreating woman, albeit with a little difficulty, and tried to remember, spreading sugary substance over her fingers as she distractedly rolled the fruit around.

"Oh! Yes," she stammered, turning to look at him in the face as she spoke, "I've been wondering…"

"If it's to ask about my 15-year-old fiancé, then please, think of _intelligent_ questions, because I'm seriously afraid of the places your curiosity goes to sometimes," Ardeth interrupted her quite suddenly, a wide smile on his face as he chewed on some round fruit, his gritty cheeks inflating quite comically. Unable to chase away the mental image of Ardeth's face as a hamster with pepper-and-salt fur, Evy puffed a laugh, having to wipe at the sticky drop of fruit juice that dribbled down her chin. Shameless, she challenged him with a would-be determined look, before dropping her eyes back on the shiny bite mark in her fruit's generous cheek.

"What did you think of me, the first time you met me?"

Ardeth shifted, lifting his knee and placing an elbow on it casually, extending an arm to support himself so that if she leaned backwards she could rest her back against it.

"What, you mean when my men and I stormed your little campsite, and Rick dragged me off my horse to then molest me in the folds of some flimsy tent whilst you were off shooting random things with his rifle?" He smiled as he recalled the moment, lips stretching further as Evy dug her elbow into his side. "Yes, you mean during the first incident we went through together? Well…"

He turned his head to look at her, his expression softening. Or rather, his lips losing their smile and his eyes recovering it, somehow making it seem much more like a secret they were both jealously sharing.

"Answer the question," Evy grinned nervously.

"You're distracting me."

"But I didn't say anything!" she protested, unaware that she'd been staring at him open-mouthed whilst waiting for him to answer.

He fidgeted. "You weren't really a distraction. You were… an intriguing person. A woman, out in ancient lands, with something vaguely familiar about… that way of carrying your head unusually high for your small size-" He ignored her as she nudged him again, making it look accidental as she dipped her head forward to sink her teeth into her fruit.

"So you recognized Nefertiri, even then?"

A pause. "Well… no. Actually, I ignored the sense of deja-vu whenever I was around you. It was just something about you taking whatever situation head-on and tenaciously fighting till the end even if it was a losing battle… I don't know. You could never be a woman of the Medjai clan, that much is certain. You have too much… independence."

"Hmm." It seemed Evy was paying more attention to the way his skin stretched slightly beneath his callous fingers as he passed them over his neck, brushing away stray strands of hair that were tickling his collarbones.

He stared at her for a long while, before asking, "You never paid me that much attention, though."

Evy snorted indignantly, but she didn't make any immediate answers. Her fruit finished, she chucked the leftovers in a nearby platter, lifting her sugary fingers to her mouth.

"I suppose the beginnings and the ends are always what matters most. We always end up forgetting what happens in between," she murmured between licks, her eyes losing their amused glitter. "It doesn't matter what we thought of each other in the beginning. We were good friends. That's all."

"And then it somehow…"

"Got worse and worse."

"It was your fault."

"Of course it was. I have your typical femme fatale physique."

"Oh? Then it runs in the family, it seems…"  
"Are you saying my brother is as delicate and womanly as me, Mr Bey?" Her smile was spawning again.

"Am I the only one who noticed? I think he owes his life about five times to me, a million times to you, and six or seven times to Rick."

"Hm. Maybe a few times to Alex, too."

"Mmh."

Talking about the family had sort of brought reality screeching back onto the big screen. There was a slight pause, though not uncomfortable, and a few of the men in their seated circle had gotten on their feet to fetch drinks or join other groups. Evy fiddled absently with a strap on her borrowed leather boot, noticing how Ardeth's head turned to stare up at the position of the Sun in the cloudless sky. Her heart was almost in her throat; she hated the feeling of comfort being swept away to be replaced by pounding anxiety, though she should've really gotten used to it by now. She could easily guess what was going through his mind; how long did they still have before her family arrived? Hardly several minutes, was her guess. They must've had technical difficulties to be so late arriving.

He took her hand quite suddenly, lifting her to her feet so quickly that her head buzzed and her eyes prickled with temporary darkness- then like two teenagers on some much-awaited fugue they were running across the square, lifting clouds of sand and brushing past laughing groups of men, drifting women, squealing children. Only when they were in the shade of a tent, in no one's sight, did the dark Medjai stop, spin her around and crush her shoulders against his chest. He nuzzled his face into her throat, and the simple sincerity of the gesture knocked the voice out of her. Shifting her feet so that they were neatly set between his own, she let her hands escalate his back till they found a comfortable position.

It still didn't seem real that this was to be the last time he would hold her so close, that a moment might feel so sincere, so perfect. Her heart was racing, though it seemed to be miles away from her body- it was adrenaline in her veins, and an indecipherable bustle of voices in her mind, and all she could do was relish the warm solidity of his body against her own, like a rock- something unchangeable, unbreakable.

_It would be over so soon, so soon._

"What will it take for you to stay, Evelyn?"

It was a murmur not even louder than the murmurs of wind around their entwined calves. Evy sighed absently against his shoulder, her arms tightening around his surprisingly fine waist. She turned her head, her eyes closed and her open lips searching- she wanted to stop the questions, the hateful words that changed every pleasant, evanescent dream into cruel reality.

"_What do I have to do?_" His mouth moved so near her own that his words literally brushed her skin- she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, his jaw line, the space beneath his eyes. _Shush._ She had no answer, and he knew full well that his questions were rhetorical. This love was rhetorical, this moment was rhetorical- and if that's all this was, then what of their entire lives? Disgusting _clones_ that they were- demurred vessels destined for greater souls who had taken pity on their feisty little determination to live, leaving them to this ever-growing attraction that would only disappear when their bodies would.

He leaned his forehead against hers.

They breathed simultaneously. Tripping over their thoughts. Tripping over this reality.

Shouts resounded; they both knew full well what that monstrous whooshing sound corresponded to, what was happening. Rhetoric. Inevitability.  
The ground was slipping from beneath their feet.

"_From here it's a mindless freefall till the next time we meet," _Evelyn whispered in the ancient language, her fingers trembling in the folds of the fabric that covered his back as she tried to ignore the fact that she was scared out of her mind at the prospect of reaching the end of this embrace; what it would mean for him to let go of her, what it would mean to step out of the shadow of the tent wall.

She heard an American voice, several streets away, unmistakable in its loudness and the slight smear of anxiety that stained it.

"…_do you want to pretend that we will?"_

His words fell like hail on the barren landscape of her mind. She tightened her grip around his waist, hoping it would suffice as an answer. Then he'd bent his head and a sweet warmth was against her mouth, velvet lips locking hers together, as though turning a key on this secret, on this interlude; banishing it from the place where reality could still ravage it.

She clung onto him as a wave of inconsiderate despair overcame her out of nowhere; it seemed she was choking, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd given up breathing a long while ago. She opened her lips tentatively, like she was going to release the leap of emotion that was burning her throat at six hundred degrees Fahrenheit, and he mimicked her, catching her unspoken words, not letting her escape his kiss, not letting her break their union just yet.

_Just a little longer…_

Her eyelashes were soaking, and his eyes weren't quite shut, and his fingers were digging into her waist, and this moment would be over in point one seconds, and there were footsteps just around the corner, and she found herself dangerously unbalanced between desire and duty, and why couldn't they, why couldn't they, this was place was certainly beautiful and this life was certainly tempting, but she couldn't, she couldn't leave her child, oh God, was it really so hard to leave it all behind, why was it so damnably _impossible_, why couldn't there be some way, some way for everything to stay the way she wanted, for once, just once, what did she have to do, _what could she do?_

Children. Shouting.

Footsteps. Horses snorting.

_One broken kiss, their world alone…_

**xxx**

It almost looked believable. How Evelyn turned the corner, coming out onto the street where Rick and Alex and Jonathan were walking amidst a group of skipping children and one or two men and women guiding them along. How Rick's rugged face broke into a wide smile, not hesitant to those who didn't pay more attention. How Evelyn responded with a tired smile, looking relieved to those who didn't pay more attention.

Should she run towards him, her arms outstretched? Should she scream? Weep as she told him how much she'd missed him, how scared she'd been, how she'd been waiting only for him to return, and how hard that wait had been?

Evelyn was not a hypocrite by nature. And it was only by keeping true to herself that she was capable of thinking it was right to walk at such a slow pace to get to her husband, her hands by her sides, her hair billowing softly around her glowing face. She furtively hoped her eyes weren't too red- though she didn't think Rick would be such a fool as to think that the tears were for him, if her expression was that obvious.

Rick didn't run. Perhaps he had noticed something. Perhaps he was keeping true to himself too, as he let the yelling children tug at his arms and scamper around his legs, his eyes on his wife, his smile plastered to his face, not seeming fake just yet.

Alex plummeted into his mother's arms like a rocket, without her even noticing that he'd shouted her name and ran at her from the moment she came into view. Jonathan kept the same pace as Rick, a certain maturity shining in his dark eyes; she'd never seen such a serious expression on her brother before. Maybe that's why she stopped in her tracks, her eyes tracked on his soothingly familiar face, her feet trudging to a halt in the sand.

Her arms drifted around Alex's shoulders as he clamped onto her waist, his face in her bosom and his knobbly knees knocking against her legs.

Jonathan picked up his pace and came to her side, a strangely understanding expression on his face as he laid a hand on Alex's tufty head and encircled Evy's shoulders with his other arm.

"Hey, old mum," he smiled somehow tiredly, and she responded in kind, not quite trusting her voice.

_Oh, Jonathan…_

She would've wanted to peel Alex off her, to banish Rick from her view and throw her arms around her dear brother's neck, returning to their closed world, the intimacy that they'd shared since childhood; a world of complicity and dreams that would never get ensnared by words or opinions of others. Returning to the _before_.

She didn't want to touch Rick. Didn't want to share a gaze with him. Didn't want to see that smile. Didn't want to know that that glow in his eyes was because of her- that that anxiety he was feeling was because of her. Didn't want to know she had such a huge influence on his life.

But… she couldn't constantly play hide-and-seek, now could she?

Rick came to her side, and Jonathan and Alex melted away from her; Jonathan being the only one fully aware of the terror in his sister's eyes as they did so. And then Rick's arm was around her shoulder and his other one was around her waist, holding her against him, his lips against her forehead.

_Cage._

Her arms came around him.

…_Liar._

**xxx**

"…the first thing we'll do is electrify our son's brain, so that he'll be rid of all this madness," Rick was saying in a playful manner, as he and his family waved down at the Medjai camp below them, the great balloon gulping in mouthfuls of fire and floating away into the sky. The village, lost in the great golden plains of sand dunes, seemed to drop away from them, making their stomachs flip and a giddy feeling overwhelming their senses as they waved at the screaming children and smiling men. Some were on horseback, preparing for one of the numerous mysterious missions that the nomads carried out- this whole story must've seemed like a passing attraction to them. Just some sticky affair their chief had gotten himself entangled into, and now that it was over, they were probably a bit relieved to see these troublesome people float further away into the deep blue of the sky.

Evy stood with Alex under her arm, a hand on the rusty rail and her eyes searching amidst the smiling Medjai men, a tiny little smile on her face; she had no idea what kind of expression could sum her up, so she supposed an enigmatic little curve of the lips would suffice to quieten anyone's curiosity. She was detached from the hearty jest between the men around her, and it was only when Rick's fingers touched her cheek that she tore her gaze away from the Medjai village, an absent look in her hazelnut eyes.

"Honey," Rick said.

"Mmh?" she replied.

It seemed that that one monosyllable that she'd pronounced somehow dented something in his expression; what had looked like hesitant serenity in his eyes now looked like plain disquiet. Maybe he'd been expecting something? She didn't really want to know.

"Can we… talk? Afterward?"

"Of course," Evy smiled at him, giving him the most affectionate look she could summon, before turning her eyes back to the Medjai camp as slowly as she could afford so as not to seem obvious.

His fingers trailed down her throat, and then he let it go, letting his hand fall down heavily onto Alex's head.

"What does electrifying someone's brain do, anyway? How's it _done_?" Alex asked, apparently fascinated by the subject.

Rick was laughing, Jon was making up fantastical theories, Izzy was driving… and Evy was apart from it all. Included in their group but aloof, her lily-white hands gripping the rail, bosom heaving rhythmically.

The camp was far now. A little black lump in the rocky desert. And yet… there was something moving; something detaching itself from the rest of the patrolling Medjai on their horses… was that…?

Her bosom lowered as the breath left her body; lips parting in disbelief, she watched as the black horse cut its way through the sand, lifting a ghostly trail behind it as it frothed at the mouth in effort, throwing its elegant legs forward in a mindless gallop.

It could never catch up with the dirigible; the simple laws of nature would never allow it to. But that didn't matter. The rider had his tattooed hands in the flying waves of its mane, legs surrounding its bare flank; it had no bridle, no saddle. It was completely free, and it was following the dirigible at a measurable distance, rising towards them as its rider guided it up a steep slope that would bring it to the top of a sizable rock that surged out of the sand like a great brown head.

Rick and Jonathan had returned to the tent, leaving the flaps open, and Evy could feel her husband's eyes on her back. But right now, she didn't care. She unconsciously hugged Alex closer to her side as she watched the rider dismount from his ebony stallion in one graceful drop, advancing to the very edge of the rock. They were still low enough to be able to see his billowing robes, his hair as it was whipped around his head in the hot wind.

It was a question, Evy realized as the coldness swept throughout her entire body. It was a suggestion.

_Now or never. _

_Together or not? _

He was right, she realized. It was probably the only way they could still… still…

Her fingers tightened around the rusty rail.

His feet dislodged stones as he crept nearer to the edge of the cliff face.

Even at an impossible distance where they couldn't distinguish the lines of each other's face, they could still sense the other's attention.

_Come on… _

_Choose…_

Time hung on a heartstring. Swaying. Ever so fragile.

There was a silence… one more of those seconds that lasted for an eternity.

And then Alex's arm tightened around his mother's waist, and the simple gesture seemed to scream a gigantic _no_; his eyes were squinted as he stared at his mother's white face, that expressionless mask she wore, and how terrifying it was to see that strange determination settling in her eyes- he swung his other arm around her, hugging her side and furrowing his head beneath her arm, wanting to say _no_ but not quite knowing why. It was a gut instinct, it seemed- _no, don't, don't, DON'T._

A breath escaped her, and she dropped down onto her knee to hug her son back, holding onto him quite literally like holding onto dear life, whispering his name as her hand closed around the back of his head.

Now… now was the time to forget. She was a mother, and she was a wife, and she had to let the responsibilities that that engendered consume her once again, if she wanted to lead a seemingly normal life. She had to drop shutters over this interlude. She had to… what was that senseless expression? 'Embrace life as it presents itself to you'?

She almost scoffed into her son's hair.

…somewhere far below them, a dark figure closed his eyes, his head lowering a fraction, before turning to his horse and climbing back onto its back, leading it docilely down the rocky slope at a trot.

_To each his own path, now. _


	23. Adagio

**a&n: **'Why on Earth did she take two weeks to write a chapter that was just as long- if not longer- than the one she took three months writing?' Why, you ask? Easy- I think I'll dedicate this chapter to WolfgoddessMya, who gave me an absurd electro-shock of inspiration. Thanks so much! And to justagirl, too, for bearing with me; you guys are adorable!  
(Estora, if by any chance you come across this... you know what I'm about to say, right?)  
This fic is coming to its end; it's been three years, which is ridiculous for such a short story, right? Bah! I hope you'll like the boring boringness of the unwinding chapters, because it's a big, boring unwinding of boredom; at least, the last parts were. Tell me what you think!  
**music:** see chapter title: Adagio by Shigeru Umebayashi. Ah, perfection, perfection.

* * *

**REGENESIS**

**Chapter twenty-three  
_Adagio_**

**xxx**

The mug set loose a soft grey mist that escaped with an elegant flick, spilling over the edge of the cup and painting the African woman's plump lips with a hint of humidity.

Leeu scratched her leg, huffing impatiently. It was as hot as the Devil's ass out here in the Medjai camp, and yet the women seemed intent on soaking her entire nervous system in their infamous herbal tea. Well, she'd gotten used to heat- more like, she'd been trained and conditioned to think of each drip of sweat as a member of the family, so she couldn't really use the excuse of the temperature to justify the sluggishness that was gradually distilling itself in her muscles. It had to be some kind of plant, some nomad drug that those women in scarves were grinding up and filtering into these damned pots of tea. How was she supposed to trust those women, if they hid their faces during the day and apparently ground up sleep-inducing drugs the rest of the time? Not to mention that most of those fickle ladies had somehow _acquired_ the attention of some pretty smashing-looking warriors; though she couldn't remember if the couples here were formed out of free will or not. Actually, she couldn't remember a good deal of what her father had taught her about this place.

Lock-Nah had been part of this particular Medjai clan. He'd been a warrior under Ardeth's command. How many stories of desert campaigns and harsh training sessions spent rolling around in sand that gave you stronger burns than carpet could ever inflict on little girls' skins had she spent her childhood dreaming about… in the pleasant, lukewarm temperatures and luscious greeneries of Southern England. How many fond memories did she have of impromptu holidays in her father's native land, learning the arts of combat and horseback riding, as well as camels when they could get their hands on a few of those dopey animals; she had spent a childhood of luxury and dreams that were infinitely more tangible and _present_ than any of her schoolmates. And oh, how many children had wanted to be granted access to a little space by her side, in earshot of the fantastic tales she had to tell about her father's past in the nomadic tribes that scoured the Sahara, and were still out there somewhere, gathering water from wells that pierced the Planet's crusty heart and lending an ear to the desert winds to know where their destinies were headed, riding wild horses bareback and wielding crooking scimitars with rough, tattooed hands…

It was only when she'd gotten a bit older, a bit more mature that her father told her why they could never 'visit' the place where he'd been born; that ever-shifting village, more elusive than a mirage; and why it was dangerous for her to venture out alone into the desert on their family trips. He'd been exiled. He'd been humiliated. And, to keep his dignity, probably, he said that it was dangerous for him to see his old compatriots because he'd be overcome by the desire for vengeance- but, growing up, his daughter understood that when a Medjai was exiled, there was no coming back. Not out of bravery, or sentiment, or any excuse that could seem credible at first glance. It was a question of ancient tradition; it was a ritual of sorts. There was no coming back and there were no questions asked.

So, the daughter of the dead man, the daughter of the exile- here she was, sitting in an open tent with a clean linen bandage hugging her ribs and a steaming pot of tea warming her already sticky palms, watching the bustle of the sandy street outside as the nurse pottered around in the chests somewhere behind her, tending to a patient that was moaning softly in semi-consciousness.

She could pretend all she wanted that these people shared her blood; that this was where her roots were, and it was here that she could attain the most honorable death, if she wanted. She could try to look like she fitted in, like she thought it perfectly natural to pinch dirt and rub her hands before setting three sticks of incense at precise hours of the day at a little niche where some unknown Intelligence smiled enigmatically at this stuffy outside world. But… something just wasn't right. She couldn't fit in just yet. She felt almost detached… and for her to not be in her element always put her on edge.

Which was why she was trying to soothe her fretful senses by watching Ardeth's furious pacing in front of the infirmary, his hand pressing on his scimitar hilt so heavily that the muscles had gone white. At least she wasn't alone in her brooding.

She watched him with a smooth brow and nothing suggesting judgement in her eyes, for once, as he traced wonky ovals in the sand, his robes billowing around his legs, dark sash fitting quite snugly around his waist- it was with a slight start that she realized how thin he'd gotten whilst under her 'care'. Well, he did look a bit more dashing that way, in her opinion- the sombre, hungry, intriguing sort of man- but really, to the Medjai women, he must've seemed pathetically frail compared to his companions and their broad pectoral muscles and trunk-like thighs.

A horse wandered aimlessly down the sandy street, its head lowered, tail whipped around its lean legs by the sandy wind as it trailed its hooves through the terrain of white dust. Momentarily distracted, the Medjai chieftain stopped in his pacing, taking the animal side-on and staring at it in the eye. The elegant quadruped stopped, caught, and waited for this predator to make the next move. The man stepped forward… seeing the animal's dense muscles tensing up, he stopped, took three steps back and turned his side to the animal again. Fluffy ears perking forwards, the horse gave a low snort and shook its head, advancing towards its master and extended its soft grey muzzle towards the man's shoulder, inhaling the musky, masculine scent. Did the creature pick up any trace of feminine perfume there, Leeu wondered, watching this little spectacle with a half-interested eye.

Ardeth waited patiently for the creature to quit sniffing him in order to return the favour, raising a hand to scratch that little gap between its large cheekbones, on the underside of its head. He seemed more than just a little preoccupied, and when the messenger that he awaited came to give him the news of the rations he'd been waiting for- a delay in the shipment, Leeu guessed, judging by the sour expression that pinched at the warrior's mouth- he waved away the lesser man and barked a few orders in Arabic, dismissing him at the same time.

"Troubles, darling?" she tentatively called, marking the first casual dialogue they would share since she came here. It had been only a week since Evelyn and co had left in their great, oversized balloon, and though they'd seen quite a lot of each other, they had never quite looked at each other in the eye, only exchanging ideas when it came to leading the Medjai tribe; where next to import supplies from, seeing as this season had been particularly rough and their nomadic agriculture hadn't given them sufficient supplies for the upcoming weeks; when to dispatch troupes, if such-and-such ancient land was under the modern Man's threat, and who to send… amongst other things.

The young African hadn't realized that the chieftain's nerves were so raw; he snapped his head over in her direction as soon as the last syllable had trotted off her proud lips and in the second that followed he had turned on his worn heel and stormed her way, chucking great carpets of sand with his footfalls onto the scarlet rugs that served as a flooring in the infirmary. The nurse looked up at him from where she was, seated on her heels beside the moaning patient with a spatula bearing heavy drips of some greasy substance in one hand, and instinctively she lowered her chin into the endless folds of her scarf, seemingly shrinking in his field of vision.  
Leeu, however, did nothing of the sort. If he thought he could play dominance games with her, after all they'd been through already, then he was out of his mind. Alright, so logically thinking, perhaps it was his _turn_ to publicly humiliate her or do something horrid like that, but just because he was in his rights to do so didn't mean she was going to bow her head and take his blows like some pathetic martyr. She had taught him to respect her, somewhat- now she supposed he was going to do the same.

Vengeance. Oh, what child's play it all was… she, of all people, had come to understand that at last.

So it was with a grain of understanding that she set aside her pot of tea and took on the morose chieftain's assault with no visible change in her face- he grabbed her by the flimsy collar of her maroon shirt, lifting her up and somehow towering over her though they were practically the same height.

"Do not _speak_ to me," he spat at her hoarsely, before throwing her back, making her stumble to regain balance, and unsheathing his scimitar from his hip in one smooth movement, one smooth metallic purr. The nurse didn't dare to look up, though her shoulders dislodged the heavy piles of fabric that hugged her torso as they tensed in fright.

Leeu merely raised an eyebrow. Oh, this would certainly be entertaining. She'd never seen the Medjai chief so unstable, and she'd been his hellish captor for countless weeks, so she was bound to have seen him swayed by all possible mood swings; she knew she would've been scared senseless right about now, if she hadn't spent those weeks conditioning herself to his bizarre frames of mind.

She knew what it was that dangerously bubbled over the surface of his self-control, swathed in those black robes and safely hidden from the harsh eyes of the world. She had never really known love to its full extent to know what torture it could really be, but she had a few, fairly good ideas. Taking up her father's place in the Hafez sect had certainly turned more than a few intrigued male heads her way, so she had happily toyed with the sentiment a few times, but what she'd witnessed growing between Evelyn and this man would've terrorized her, had she been one of its puppets.

"Going to give me some of my own medicine, at last?" she asked grimly in Arabic, eyeing his scimitar and wiping the splash of tea that was smudged on the corner of her lip. Her heart thudded steadily, heavy in her chest- she wasn't sure if she should be scared, or simply indifferent to what was clearly her rightful punishment.

"Perhaps it is time," Ardeth acquiesced grimly.  
"Won't you miss my advice, duckie? Your politics are hardly in a better state than you are." She had a cocked eyebrow, an amused glitter in her eye, and her all-too-familiar face was started to get to be too much.

"I could try to shatter everything _around_ the precious core of your common sense, so that nothing would go to waste," growled the chieftain.

"Please," the nurse unexpectedly piped up, leaning forward and pleading Leeu with her large kohl-rimmed eyes, "We have welcomed you here, _daughter of the exile_, but it is unwise for you to stir unrest in our leaders' hearts."

Leeu stared at her for a second, more ensnared by the woman's peculiar beauty than really intimidated by her words.

"Should I feel guilty because I'm obliged to return the kindness?" she snapped, and Ardeth waved a hand impatiently.

"Peace, _Anjallah_," he hastily said, interrupting Leeu's end of phrase. "This abandoned daughter is of no potential harm to us."

Leeu's eyes narrowed. "Wha- of course not!" An irritated sigh. "Is there even the slightest, most infinitesimal chance that that huge head of yours might one day burst? I'm here to _help_ you, you big knob. Besides, what chances of survival would I have, when I'm all alone with a crappy reputation hanging over my head and fifty or so of the planets most virile and well-trained men observing my every move?"

"Trying to help me, are you?" Ardeth sniffed.

"For God's sake- _yes._"

"What would you do about the supplies?"

The question surprised her. "Well- uh, I'd do what you did. Send for the nearest productive village instead of calling for help amongst the other Medjai tribes, who could see you as weakened by a lack of self-sufficiency." It sounded false. But Ardeth didn't even tell her what he thought of that.

"And for the scouts?"

They had encountered unaccounted-for travelers in the desert just recently. "I'd meet the strangers. Make no moves for capturing them. Ask their business. Then, dismiss myself from their presence, bid them a fair journey, before eclipsing myself and following them from an invisible distance."

"Why?"

"Be_cause_, you damned Medjai and your secrecy have already kicked me in the ass enough times for me to understand your main principles. _See all and never be seen._"

"And if the strangers were running a foul business?"

"Then they'd slip out of existence faster than ice cubes out there in your desert."

"And what of women's rights?"

He was testing her. Throwing question after question at her, not seeking coherence or orderliness. Just to see if she could truly pay attention, if she still had enough good ideas for that scimitar to waylay its visit to her throat.

But, she was getting annoyed. Her eyes were getting narrower by the minute.

"The fuck d'you think I _care _about women's rights!?" she barked, exasperated- her remark somehow drew a rare smile from her interlocutor's glum expression.

"Forgive me the thoughtless question. I had forgotten your mind worked on purely masculine ethics."

"All the better to counter your damn _pansy_ way of thinking," the viper bit out at him, crossing her arms over her imposing bosom.

"I have simply acquired _balance_. You, on the other hand, are like a thread burning on both extremities. You will let yourself be guided by some untrustworthy instinct that is nevertheless your own, and shun all other possibilities." Maybe he took pleasure in taking lunges at her pride? Whatever this was all for, it only succeeded in irritating her. "It is evident in the way you fight."

"Psh," she huffed. "Let's all build psychologies based on how one maneuvers his sword."

"Psychologies are built on a great number of things. I find that one's character can be most accurately defined in his reaction to danger." Ardeth's eyebrow was teasing her, bobbing as he spoke, and she found that around him stirred a dark cloud of something resembling authority and _power, _seemingly manifesting itself the most when he was truly in his element: this cloud of _something_ seemed to be growing larger and larger, all of a sudden becoming more oppressive- and then she realized he was simply coming closer to her, step by felt step. She wondered a little egotistically if she had had this sort of effect on her men, back when they were still alive, Allah forgive her- and then she hadn't even had the time to finish smothering that stray thought when Ardeth's hand seemed to draw a flash of silver light in a perfect, skyward arch, coming her way- she had nowhere to go, save back, and in a mindless explosion of reflex she tripped backwards to avoid the blow that would've probably sliced her skull in two neat halves- her hand flew out and her fingers caught on the low table at her left, taking down the maroon cloth that covered it and the little empty oil-lamp ontop of it, making a mess as she fell.

She would've wanted to catch a breath to be able to yell at him, ask him what the hell he was doing, but she didn't have the time to do even that- his hand was painting new kaleidoscopes of white light in the air, just skimming her hair as she rolled at his feet to avoid the scimitar's deadly bite; she heard the nurse's shrill little yelp of surprise and terror, and she could only think, '_Yeah, same here'_ as her head thudded in her ears at an African drummer's pace.

Once she was done trying to discard her primitive fear and surprise and get herself in hand as her father had taught her when faced by an ambush, her eyes automatically started combing the floor for a weapon of some sort- finding none, which was pretty obvious since they were in an infirmary; she finally abandoned herself to the rhythm of her pulsating instinct and lunged at Ardeth's legs, letting rip a yell of effort as her shoulder took on his knee with a shattering force- his entire leg bent as she leaned into it and he used her loss of stability to extract his leg from her grip in one elegant little leap. She took this chance to hop back up onto her feet, turning to face him with an inhuman grunt, her chest quivering and her arms out at the ready, fingers twitching in the absence of a proper weapon.

He had backed out into the street now, and was smiling ironically at her, his eyes dark and his mouth particularly grim even as he invited her to take him on.

"Unlearnt in the ways of hand-to-sword combat, are we?" he laughed without a trace of humour, "And _it_ thought it could oppose me in skill and knowledge!"

Rage thoughtlessly ravaged her veins, making her insides buzz. "I can oppose you in anything I want," she growled, taking a mammoth step forwards and from there running outright towards him to tear him down with her bare hands and nails; "_bastard- _didn't I prove that by succeeding in making you into a sniveling, bloodied wreck after a measly couple of weeks?"

The same angry red ink soaked Ardeth's otherwise ebony-hued eyes, and he easily threw her off with a menacing swipe of his scimitar, before containing his urge to slice her into pork ribbons (which wasn't actually his intention, as hard as it was to believe) and spinning around in the middle of the sandy street, devouring the distance between that wandering horse and himself with gluttonous strides; he launched himself into the air, landing on his stomach onto its sleek back just as it was taking off in surprise, then heaving up his leg so that he was straddling it properly, grasping a tuft of mane in his swordless hand.

Using only body weight and natural focus, the Med-jai bent the frightened animal to his will and turned it around so he was facing Leeu, who stood there on the street with her eyes on the village men who had started to gather around the tents, wondering what had overcome their chieftain. She took in bare, tattooed chests, long sashes and robes of purple, dark red, black; a lot of the men had particularly long hair, shining black and suave as satin. And practically all of them had ivory or wooden hilts tucked in their sashes, belts, _shoes_, even- she tried to decipher in their faces which ones would hand her a weapon to defend herself with if she asked for one.

"You _proved_ something with that abysmal kidnapping affair of yours, did you?" Ardeth yelled hoarsely from atop his rather skitterish horse, quite clearly beside himself with anger and, it seemed, every single emotion he'd carefully hidden beneath lids that had finally become too much to handle. "You proved that you could bring back from the dead a queen that you assumed was completely _insane_- the only thing you proved with that was that you utterly, revoltingly disrespected the ancient Egyptians and their gods, blessed may they remain- you proved that your little ways of thinking by obsessive induction took all the wrong turns possible- you proved that you could strip all dignity from whomsoever you choose, and so declare yourself a strong, experienced and _wise_ enough person to do so, when that is _absolutely not the case_, and far, far from it- _you proved nothing, nothing save that you have not a shred of respect for anything, _and that victory, for you, is running down those whom you appropriately weaken beforehand_- you call this wisdom, you cowardly wretch?"_

His horse was jumping on the spot and throwing forth its front legs, impatient, feeling the yearn for violence of his rider and wanting to escape from between the legs of such a demon- so when Ardeth finally leaned forward, pitching his body weight in such a way as to encourage the animal onward, it sank its hind hooves deep into the sand and sprang forth, bounding into a frenzied gallop, heading straight for Leeu's stricken figure.

The woman watched as this enraged duo came speeding down the street; in her wide eyes reflected a whirl of sand that the horse's hooves kicked up, its bobbing head as it snorted with each exhalation, coming ever nearer, threatening to completely trample her if neither of them altered their course. She could only think, _sword, I need a sword- _she'd only think of moving after she had one of those beautifully carved ivory hilts pressed in her palm.

She looked at the line of cross-armed men who were standing on the side of the street, some of them with their mouths open in a boyish expression of awe and wonder, others simply eyeing her with stony indifference.

Her eyes narrowed. She _wouldn't_ plead. If such was her fate, to be trampled, then so be it- if, however, she was meant to live thanks to the mercy of some blessed black-clad warrior here, then that was the way things would be. Her father had ever tried to tame her rebellious side, anyway- which was why, later on, she would feel the full force of the sting Ardeth's words had inflicted; since childhood, her father had always tried to get her to bear the utmost respect toward anything that required as much. And to disobey her father… to know her actions would've disappointed him… that was the one and only thing in the entire world that could have a real impact on her.

But not right now. There was a horse in her field of vision and a line of stoic men to her right, and a whirring cloud of sand threatening to be her grave- and she refused to cheat Fate, not again, not now that she finally understood the consequences.

Her breathing hitched.

_I know what I'm doing, damnit._

**xxx**

"Alex, have you seen your mother?"

Rick's voice resonated in the corridor, rebounding on the sculpted banister and wide, mahogany shelves that lined the walls. Alexander finished dragging his school shoes to the couch before kicking the damned things off and letting his backpack drop heavily onto the cushions, heaving a sigh of irritation.

"She is in. The darned. Library. God, dad, she's _your wife_ before _my mother_, so technically I shouldn't be the one who knows all her hiding places," the ten-year-old shouted up the stairs, jogging around the couch to get to the kitchen door, knowing that he'd find Sierra sitting on the table, swaying her legs and waiting for him to arrive.

"Where's my little sister?" he was crooning in a sing-song voice, as though chasing after a cat, and he burst into the kitchen with a bellow worthy of a certain ancient High Priest, scaring the living daylights out of the little Arabic girl, who let loose a shrill scream before dropping down from the table and running around to hide in a cupboard- the empty one on the corner, that Evy had ransacked on that terrible night when so many wine bottles had been sacrificed. The little girl slammed the door shut to conceal herself, making such a racket that, in a normal situation, she would've made Evy jump three metres in the air, an entire storey and a couple of extra rooms ahead.

The library was upstairs: it wasn't very big, smaller than an office, and in the beginning it had been some kind of walk-in closet that they'd transformed into a room with the walls completely covered in books. One would have to sit on the clutter of cushions on the floor to read, leaning one of the big ones against the shelves to be more comfortable. They'd tried to be a bit original, seeing as all the luxury and velvet-covered chairs were getting a little monotone. And seeing as Evy had gotten used to sitting on the floor by now, (and just wanted to feel those old sensations again), it was with particular affection that she'd greeted the library upon coming home; she spent most of her time there, now.

At first, no one really spoke to her, afraid to trigger some silent spell or strange, forced ways of acting on her part, and also giving her a bit of time to herself out of understanding. But Rick, being an impatient fellow, could hardly contain himself any longer when the end of the first week home arrived; he started invading her privacy without really meaning to disturb her- he had good intentions, she knew, but then he didn't really understand how she balked at the thought of falling asleep against him, or kissing him, or even looking at him in the eye properly. She was aware that it hurt him beyond her imagining when she turned her head a fraction so he'd miss his kiss, or when she answered his implicit questions with soft, sad smiles.

She made efforts… she truly did… but then, if the slightest awkward thing happened, she'd think to herself that her efforts were futile anyway, and she was exhausting herself for nothing; and then she'd shut herself up in the library, poring over the books she used to read in her childhood that she'd lovingly preserved, more for herself than for Alex, though she didn't admit that to anyone.

_How is this done?_

_How can I simply live like I used to?_

_Must I erase everything from my memory- which some have said is entirely possible- and try to lead the old life again?_

Oh… but she didn't… didn't _want_ to erase anything. That was the problem- though she was constantly trying to find different reasons, more complex explanations that she knew, deep down, didn't really exist. It was a question of personal choice, and her choice was, _keep them. Keep the memories._ It's so easy to forget, to bury events, to try and stitch a new skin over the beautiful wound… but she knew that, if ripped, the pain would be the death of her.

_And who on this living Earth would want to bury such a beautiful… beautiful-_

The door handle gave a brass whine as it turned, and Evy was jolted out of her endless cycle of thoughts, sitting there on the cushions with a book in her lap, open on the same pages as it had been for the last two hours- she twisted her spine around to see the intruder's face as he came in, knowing full well who it was and dreading the coming moment. Her heart was pounding anxiously, and she hated to worry so, to feel such reluctance whenever she saw her husband.  
"Evy?" Rick stuck his head through the door, looking down at her with a carefully constructed blank mask on his face. She gave him a wide, toothy smile that made her cheeks crease and her eyes glitter fondly. Oh, what a master she was at this make-belief- she wondered if that was a feat she'd developed herself, or if it was another of Nefertiri's stains.

"Hello," she purred, wanting not only for him to believe in that love in her voice, but for her to start believing in it, too. She had to change. She _wanted_ to change. Whenever Rick arrived, that was what tortured her- the need for her entire mind to back-pedal on itself and come back to the old way of thinking, that _well-being_, for God's sake. But, as soon as he left… it was a never-ending cycle. She would smell incense and feel dark eyelashes mingling with her own, a fictive breath stealing across her lips… _oh, Christ. _It was much easier to convince herself that she'd acted horribly when Rick was around to make her yearn for change- and though she sought solitude above all else so as not to make trouble in the harmony of the family, it was solitude that made her feel most on edge; her thoughts ran in hopeless circles, and she balked at everything, distracting herself only to kill time, as if she were waiting, waiting… for some opportunity, some chance, some darned hammer to strike this luxurious life- some kind of event that would make the Sahara desert her only choice of destination; because that's what it was, wasn't it? Choices. Which was bad, which was good- according to whom, and with what consequences, and, Jesus, she was out of her mind with thoughts and frets and even when she was a _teenager_ she didn't think she'd been so preoccupied. That dark stranger who stole into her dreams… he remained absent from her life. And, as much as she had wanted to meet him in those days, it had probably been much better that way.

Rick smiled down at her, and when she glimpsed through his glass mask and saw the hesitance he was trying to cover up, she put down her book without even bothering to mark the page and got to her feet, stumbling over the piles of cushions and falling against him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

_Gods, woman, won't you change already? This is a wonderful man you're holding…_

"I haven't seen you all day, hon," Rick murmured into her hair, soothed by her behaviour, though he was constantly on edge, too. "You haven't been cooped up in here since this morning, have you?" When she didn't answer, he slid his hands up to grasp her shoulders and force her to look up at him. "Tell me you ate while I was out, Evy."

He had taken up his work at the gunsmith antiquary a few days after they'd gotten back to London, having to sign all sorts of papers and make up all sorts of excuses to win back his job; he only won it back because not many others were as passionate as him when it came to ancient guns and the immense care they required. Taking the things apart as cautiously as possible and cleaning each part separately helped to take his mind off his wife, and this complicated situation they were in. Every time he saw her, she seemed glad to see him, but… there was this strange reluctance that she somehow managed to erase after the first few moments, but that he still noticed. And he didn't like it when certain things came between him and his wife that only she was aware of.

The dinner table was shining with porcelain and crystal, interlacing roses on blood-coloured stems decorating the tablecloth, the dim light flowing warmly from the lit candles, perched like great wax birds with dripping wings on their twisting candelabras.

Evelyn sighed, and it sounded like contentment if it weren't for the look in her eyes as she nested her chin in her hands. She watched Rick and Alex eating up the meal she'd spend several hours preparing; they complimented her on the food, jested playfully between themselves, talked of school and this and that and mummies, as usual.

_As usual…_

The setting was like that of a fairy tale: stereotypical, clichéd. Some called it 'the Happy Families syndrome', to yearn for something entirely different after several years of confinement with the same men, the same decorations, the same rooms and staircases bearing their respective memories, painful or no.

But that wasn't it… Evy's eyes were vague, the candlelight slicking the smile on her lips as she melted further into her reverie. The shadows had broad shoulders- in the corner of the cozy dining room there was the flutter of a midnight robe, an imaginary glint of an eye, tattooed fingers tracing patterns on the wall.

She hadn't noticed that Rick and Alex had been silent for a while, her son playing with his food, her husband kneading his forehead with his fingers, hiding his gaze from her even though she wasn't looking.

**xxx**

"What's happening?" murmured the man. "Why isn't she moving?"

"I think she's waiting for some action on our part," responded a shorter warrior who stood to the other's man's right. He had a slightly admiring look in his yellowish, globular eyes, and he followed the movements of Leeu's sleek black limbs as she stepped backwards hesitantly, helpless against the fury of the galloping horseman.

"What kind of action do you mean?" asked the first man. He saw the shorter man flex his fleshy fingers over the hilt that stuck up from his belt, and his eyes widened. "You're not going to…help her?"

There was a general murmur amongst the lined-up men, so Leeu couldn't quite discern what they were saying. The shorter man gave his interlocutor a glance that meant a million things at once, before according him a bizarre smile.

"I believe it is on her that depends the sanity of our chieftain, right now, and I believe Allah would want her to be given a chance against his wrath."

Before any further speech could ensue, the hilt had flown from its resting place, and Leeu's head just had the time to snap to the right, eyes focusing on the spinning object- her hand shot out, grabbed it out of the air, and she jumped aside, leaving the space clear for the horse's hooves to cleave through. Her free hand grasped Ardeth's leg as it passed at her eye-level, and then she was dragging him down, but he'd been expected that, so he came down ontop of her and managed to throw an arm around her shoulders so that they both went rolling down onto the floor, each trying to get their weapons out of harm's way.

Casting a foot into the sand, Ardeth pushed himself up angrily after disentangling himself from Leeu, and then just as she pulled up her legs to bounce back on her feet he brought his blade down on her, demoniacal _rage _lighting his facial features with a vigour that none had seen before, and that none had really been ready to witness- except his current opponent, who had always known this moment would come. Relying on her reflexes as always, Leeu swept his attack off of her, before rising to take on his spinning attack with as much grace and efficiency as always; Ardeth was insane, and though his very heart seemed to have exploded into smithereens, he still had enough sense left in him to know when to turn, when to counter, when to fall back and side-step; all of which he effortlessly executed, knowing at the same time that Leeu was not to be harmed.

This wore on for what seemed like a gap in Time itself, both furies advancing down the street in an animated fencing match, black and maroon robes and ribbons outlining their pirouettes and hurried side-steps, eyes constantly burning into each other- it seemed like their bodies were revolving on themselves like planets in complete revolution, and all that really connected them was the thread that held between their eyes like an impossible scaffolding and the sweet white kisses their scimitars exchanged between their bodies.

Ardeth knocked her down at some point- they'd come to the empty marketplace, and by now they'd attracted quite the crowd; essentially children and young couples who came to see what all this racket was about. The elders knew their young chief had been on edge for a while, and that this was a just let-out of the demons that had been breeding inside of him for much too long. If it had been seen as something unjust- this fight- then of course they'd have been stopped. On the contrary, the wiser warriors knew what it was to endure suffering that would've destroyed lesser men, and they knew that if anything, this fight would simply justify the ferocity of their chieftain, doing wonders to the place he occupied in the children's minds, and the respect he had earned from the older residents.

Leeu's head came down hard onto the sand, and her entire brain seemed to shake in its bone walls- she brought her sword up to her neck to defend herself when the Med-jai chieftain dropped down onto her, straddling her hips and clashing his blade against her own so that both tips touched the ground, their kiss giving birth to brilliant golden sparks.

"I hope you know this is the only reward you really deserved since you began playing with the Gods," he breathed, trembling so hard as they each struggled to counter the other's blade weight that his face was only an inch or so from hers, raven strands of hair brushing her forehead, and her hot breath scathing his lips as she panted harder than she would've allowed herself in normal circumstances.

"_Allah_," she spat, glaring up at him, "if you think I was expecting any reward from you other than to have you _scream _and _writhe_ for me, you were obviously mistaken-"

"Oh, but you obtained _that_, didn't you?" Ardeth growled, leaning his full weight on his blade so that it dramatically neared her neck, "I suppose you never had such _thrill_ in your life than when you had me on my knees, bound up, _unarmed_, whilst you went in circles with depraved insults that gradually became as senseless as your whiplashes, uncoordinated, clumsy, so lacking _pain_ that it became almost comical to see you believe in your antics so-"

"Oh, yes, so lacking _pain_ that I had you _bleeding_ and restraining screams- but you never did like being the- the-" And with an inhuman effort, she pushed him back, letting rip a bestial growl of strength as she rolled ontop of him, so that their positions were reversed; it was her straddling him, with their blades at his neck. "_the fucking victim- _oh but you know, I don't give two shits what you do to me now, now that you've relieved me of that desire I had to see you crawl at my feet- you, chieftain, lovesick _weakling_-"

The warrior for God's lips curled over his teeth, and he gave an animalistic grunt as he pushed against her, making her topple backwards, leaping at her throat with his bare hands, discarding his sword and rolling in the sand with her shining chocolate limbs thrashing around him, her weapon lying somewhere in the sand too.

"I, the weakling- the one who bettered your fool of a father in all the ways you could ever imagine-_" _He was hissing into her ear-

"They exiled him because they were _afraid!_" Leeu hissed right back, letting slip a cry of pain as his hand dug painfully into her waist as he tried to get a stronger grip of her; her thighs were half around his waist and she had her fingers up and down the fabric that covered his torso; she could hardly feel what started where and where the ends were, and she wasn't even sure if this pure hate was really coherent, if it was just influence, the result of his mindless rancor rubbing off on her.

"Afraid, woman?" Ardeth barked a laugh, so dry and humourless that it almost scraped her ears to hear him utter it, "Afraid he might take his pagan views of the world and drag us all down with his graceless, power-hungry leadership? I suppose you're right."

He had come atop her again, towering over her in the sand, one gritty hand wrapped around her neck- fingers pressing against her strong jawbone, palm on her pulse point. His delirious eyes sought out the fear in hers as she looked up at him, her plump lips parted and her lithe hands holding onto his wrists in vice-like grips that gradually eased as she realized he wasn't putting much force into his throttling affair.

"They were afraid of his ideas, that much is true," she whispered in a voice mixed with velvet and venom, stubbornly holding his gaze, "But he was born of the same tribe as you. He fed from the same blessed midwife bosoms as you. Isn't there some kind of fraternal bond between the men of this culture? Did you feel it was your duty, or was it on a simple whim that you showed him such _fraternal love_ when you _fucking slit his throat_?"

Ardeth's mind was whirring. He thought he was going to kill her- this woman he held between his hands and thighs, this trembling nymph of burnt bronze skin, with eyes like black fire and that wretched forked tongue he'd come to know so well. But, nevertheless, as he watched her struggling silently, with dignity, against his hold, her words seemed to seep past the fog of his anger and confusion; he saw again, the days before teenage-hood, when he was receiving his training to become chieftain along with the other boys of the tribe who were of age and competence to put themselves to the test. He saw again, that grand, bulky adolescent with golden rings hanging from his lobes and that sly smile folding up his bulbous lips, white ivory in black palms flying like wingless birds during their practice sessions. The arrogance of those tender ages… it seemed that it had lasted through the years, though dimmed somewhat, and their boyish competitiveness had come in the way of common sense and, most importantly, honour.

The sombre man had never thought it over. A slice across the stomach, a slice across the neck. And then, he had practically tripped over the red-clad body as it lay in the rain of the tropical forest, throat becoming a geyser of blood and eyes bulging grotesquely.

Leeu watched him hatefully, a scowl crumpling her voluptuous features.

"Dishonour, eh? You spoke of me not being able to respect anything, and yet, have you even looked at yourself?"

His mind snapped. It was too much- just then, just there, she'd crossed the line. His hand flew, ripples rode cruelly over the glittering black of her cheek as she took the blow to the face, her head thrown aside with the force of his punch. She thought she tasted blood once she regained full awareness, and then suddenly she realized his weight was slipping off her, his legs sliding over her hipbones as he let himself fall to the side, rolling onto the sand beside her and panting outright, eyes squeezed shut against the burning sun and hands hanging feebly in the air, elbows digging into the sand by his sides.

They stayed like that for several minutes, regaining their breaths and wits, staring up sightlessly at the too-bright sky.

He was the first to swallow, to strum coherent life into his vocal chords.

"Look at us," he said bitterly, ending with a short, mocking laugh. "Wretches. Sightless, vengeance-seeking little children."

"Does it feel familiar?" Leeu asked him, and his laugh renewed itself.

"In many different ways, yes."

He was so very aware of this woman lying in the sand beside him, limbs slicks with perspiration, ribcage trembling, so beautifully black against the whitened sand, so alike her father… the man he'd always held in high regard, even though now- twenty-five or so years later, he realized that he'd been jealous of the black man's independent mind. His modern way of thinking. So very _interesting_ and new, and intelligent, nonetheless.

He'd never felt remorse for the way he had killed the man- and perhaps the Gods had punished him for being so careless, and had sent this vituperative creature as a punishment, or perhaps as a reminder to rectify his mistake.

All this… because of his arrogance, his selfish desire for leadership, and his enormous self-confidence that had enabled him to step up as high as he'd come.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Allah had sent this creature to put his mind right again… this certainly wasn't the way of the Medjai. Such jealousy and hatred among the adolescent men of the tribe wasn't normal- wasn't right.

He hadn't even realized that he'd started laughing, hysterically no doubt, at his own blatant ridiculousness. _The way of the Medjai._ He'd encouraged the elders to exile Lock-Nah, when both were eighteen, adversaries in the very last exercises that would determine who would claim the right to become the next chieftain in line- he'd always wanted to prove himself, after all, but that was hardly an excuse. He'd lost many, many of his men in the fight against the Anubis warriors, thanks to his clumsy war-making abilities. He'd bedded a woman whose soul belonged to another… a man to whom he owned many debts that he was far from repaying.

_And, this woman…you should feel regret for having taken her- yet you feel regret for letting her leave! _

He was Ardeth Bey, leader of the twelfth tribe of the Medjai. And he was lying here in the sand, pitiful,_ pitiful_, burdened by so many mistakes of the past that refused to let him go, burdened by feelings that he should've long since gotten rid of, for the sake of the entities he held dear…

"Stop laughing, man. The children are scared out of their right minds at the mere sight of you."

He opened his eyes a crack, noticing that the glare of the sun was refracted into a thousand painful shards through the tears that had gathered on the raw thresholds of his eyes. Leeu was crouching beside him, staring down at him, and once she saw she had his attention, she extended an arm, offering to help him up.

He took her entire forearm as though she were a man, and then she heaved him up with such effort that they both staggered when they were on their feet again, leaning against each other like drunkards and tripping over the sand. A great clamour arose from the groups of children who had been holding their breaths, and they ran around laughing shrilly and grabbing at the hems of the adults' robes; those who were still present, sitting in groups in the sand or simply in the doorways of their tents, watching their chieftain and his old enemy do their awkward business.

"How's your face?" Ardeth grunted as he caught Leeu around the waist, hoisting her up and pressing her against his side as though he was helping a wounded soldier back on his feet. The woman gave a snort.

"How's yours?"

"I shouldn't have struck you. It wasn't proper."

Leeu thought she'd have burst out laughing at that, if her throat hadn't been twisted up like a scrap metal pipe a few minutes ago.

"I suppose I should've said the same thing after flogging you," she sneered, "'Oh, sorry darling. It wasn't very _gracious_ of me to rip the skin off your backbone.'"

"Those scars are going to stay for the rest of my sojourn on this Earth, you know." Ardeth tried not to kick the little children away from his legs as they scuttled around them in an exhilarant mob. "I suppose I should thank you for that- it makes me look more…"

"Convincing?" Leeu tried to fill in for him. They'd come to his tent- he shoved her inside after unwinding her arm from around his shoulders, not even bothering to be more gentle about it because she was a woman- to him, she was just as solid and capable as one of his fellow warriors, so he saw no reason as to why he'd give her some exceptional treatment. And besides, she'd done more than prove to him that he didn't have to be careful when handling her at all.

"Well, seeing as you've reduced me to skin and bones, I suppose a few scars make me look less pathetically frail," he said bitterly, going over to the pottery jar of water that stood behind the low table, lined up against the rug-covered wall amongst the jars of dried foods and various riches. He took off the lid, dipping a bowl into its contents and coming back around to set the water-filled bowl on the table, taking up a rag and soaking it in the cool water. Leeu hadn't waited for permission to pull aside a chair and let herself fall into it, right next to where Ardeth was standing, bent over the side of the table with the wet rag in his hands. He turned to the woman and, after a moment's pause where both just stared at each other without quite knowing which eyes to put on, he chucked the rag unceremoniously at her and proceeded to washing his hands and face with the bowl.

Leeu brought the rag to her swollen cheek, and they both cleared themselves up for a few minutes, the only sound being the general outdoor bustle and the gentle plopping of water droplets as they dripped from Ardeth's beard back into the bowl.

It wasn't uncomfortable, being together in the same tent and being fully aware of their new state as firm allies- but it sure was strange. Here was a man who Leeu had whipped and abused of- here was a woman that Ardeth had beat to a pulp. And yet, it seemed as though they had long months of collaboration ahead of them, if the tribe still accepted Leeu in its confines after all she'd done.

It was almost amusing. After all that had happened, all the distress, the scheming, the blood, the fear…

"You missed a spot," the warrior told her, pointing to a spot of blood that was incrusted in a delicate fold of skin on her eyelid. She couldn't quite scrape it off, so Ardeth impatiently wrestled the rag from her and, ignoring her indignant huff, tenderly wiped off the little crimson stain.

He lingered in front of her seated figure for a little while, the rag hanging in his fingers, her chin in the air as she contemplated his face curiously.

What a strange sentiment, hate is… it comes like a vicious fire, and once its purpose is abolished, there is naught left of it but ashes from which are free to bloom all sorts of different feelings that are strange and new.

Neither of them had lost enough pride to start apologizing to the other just yet. But, somehow, as their gaze wore on, each understood what the other didn't explain in words. Ardeth's eyes were on the dark crevasses that cut up the plum-coloured lips of this viper, and her own eyes were traveling over the rough plains of his face. Neither trying to hide anything anymore.

**xxx**

Her forehead leaned against the cold glass, breath making a fog on the transparence, her reflection closing its insubstantial eyes. The mummy behind the glass stared at her evenly with its gaping eye sockets, and if one were to trust the tricks of light and rotten bandages, one would've thought it had held a compassionate look about its fleshless face.

She couldn't help feeling like this. It was the never-ending _what if,_ now, making her life a senseless spiral where she couldn't recognize the ups from the downs and where the steps were invisible to her- only the ground she'd come from stayed in her mind. What if… what if she was wasting her time here, trying to be _right_ about things, trying to revert to the old ways? What if she was wasting a wonderful lifetime as a Sahara nomad with her lover, because she had to admit that's what he was, with feelings that would be in past _and_ present tense? What if… what if Ardeth ended up falling in love with his fifteen-year-old betrothed? _That trollop- _that she had never even _seen_, and yet was allowing herself to judge?

The new curator of the British Museum came up into the storage room where she was currently offering company to the stored dead people who were yet to be displayed, withered antiquities that they'd become. Maybe she'd _known_ these people, for Anubis' sake- the thought itself revolted her.

"Mrs O'Connell?" the curator gently probed from the doorway where he was standing. "I have dismissed the personnel. You may take your leave also." He had an attractive accent that added a flick of elegance to each word he pronounced, and all of a sudden she found herself recalling the old curator who had died to save their skins from a crazed mob.

"Mr Gion," she said as she turned around and pressed her back to the foggy glass, addressing the gentleman a proper smile.

"Mrs O'Connell, if I may, you have not been very well since your coming back from that rather enigmatic sojourn of yours. I hope nothing is disturbing you?" He was so clipped and polite, caring at the same time, though she couldn't quite work out if it was sincere or gentlemanly etiquette.

"Mr Gion," she said again, still smiling, though her eyes shone fiercely. "Tell me something- have you ever wondered if there's some better way that you're completely missing? Have you ever wondered if you're completely wasting your time for reasons that are only real at certain times of the day?"

The stiff man gave her a rare chuckle, his carefully trimmed mustache tickling the rosy sliver of his upper lip.

"It's a deep question that you ask, ma'am. I'm not sure I fully understand where you're coming from; I never doubted much, I never let myself clouded by other possibilities, because they're always there, just around the corner- there's always a better way of doing things, just like there's a worse way of doing them, but your choices are of no rank; they are neither more right than wrong. They are simply yours."

Evelyn bowed her head a little, trying to fish herself out of the well of thought he'd just plunged her into.

"…thank you for the insight. That's a very nice way of putting it…"

"Mrs O'Connell," the curator said carefully, stepping towards her, feeling that there was something wrong with the introvert woman. "If you'll allow me to say this; there may be times when we are between two towers of rock, knowing that either is a challenge to climb; knowing that once we've begun climbing one, it will be all the more difficult to change our minds. My advice is… do not be mindful of the foundations of these towers- do not place your trust in the solidity of their respective roots. It is only in yourself that you must trust- once you have embraced your sentiments, once you've found truth… you'll know. You'll know which to choose."

She was searching for some sign of erased tattoos on his cheeks, holding her breath so as to rapturously capture and save each word he uttered.

"Choices in life are, after all, just crooked stepping stones whose paths you must decipher before heading forward. Some learn to fly… whilst others are brave enough to try keeping them under their feet. Only those who don't blame the stones for their mistakes find the paths that were destined to be their own."

…Once Evelyn had left the room with a respectful "Mr Gion" and a swift smile, the curator straightened his tie and passed two fingers over a wayward strand of his longish hair that had escaped from his ponytail. He turned on his heel and exited the room after distractedly looking it over, closing the door behind him and turning the key in the lock.

His heart was pounding. Such _pain_ mingled with the wonder he'd seen in that woman's eyes… such an old look about her eyes, as if she'd seen it all, lived through lifetimes of pleasures and horrors and somehow survived it, only to drift in the now with her eyes cast behind her, not quite knowing how to keep going.

A British man in a stylish, mayonnaise-coloured suite came to him in the corridor as he was shutting off the lights and locking the doors- he turned around, still pondering that look, those eyes that he knew would not leave him even when he went home to his wife. He smiled at the British man, a friendly face whose fist contained treasures as he held it out. The curator look one look at the Brit's outstretched fist, before waving a hand in polite decline.

"Thank you very much, but no- this is not something that concerns money."

The Brit didn't get it; this man had accepted to help him, and have Evelyn listen to someone who wasn't family now that none of the family men knew how to say what they wanted her to understand. He raised an eyebrow, before pocketing the money and fondly slapping the curator on the back.

"You have my most sincere gratitude, old chap," the Brit said, and he accompanied the curator to the Museum's main doors, his hand lingering on the curator's sizeable shoulder blade. His eyes were keen; his gait rather light compared to the last weeks.

_This might just work! She might decide to stay…_

The faithful brother didn't know just what impact that night had had on his dear sister. Some things are just like that, sometimes… entire lives based on single moments that don't seem to make much difference on the spot, but whose consequences gradually come to surface.

All he wanted was for her to confide in him again, to open her eyes a bit, to take herself out of that muck that was still sticking to her skin; muck that, to her, must've resembled glitter and gold. Where was his pompous old mum, the one that chided him and nagged him and actually _cared_ enough to make a fuss out of the slightest thing- the Evelyn he'd known since babyhood, for Chrissakes! He wouldn't let anything hollow out the slightest distance between them- and if he had been helpless as their little adventure had hollowed out a sea between her and all those who weren't part of her ancient life, he certainly wouldn't stand idly by when he had all the tools to build a bridge over the great gap.

Had it really all come down to him to stitch the family back together…? How amusing… they'd never really counted on him, and up to this day, he was sure no one really did- but it didn't matter if no one noticed his efforts. As long as the results were there, and entire lives were bettered, what did it matter?

He didn't even stop by the twenty-two houses of the women he was currently engaged with on his way back home- and his eyes didn't even flicker when he crossed the dark tavern where he went to gamble and drink with men he didn't know upon coming in, and who became his drunken friends-for-life upon coming out.

There was a mess, and if no one had enough motivation to move their asses, then he'd start booting them into action, for God's sake. _Ah, Jonathan. When this'll all be over, they'll still have all the wrong ideas about you. Too bad!_


End file.
